The White Wolf of Westeros
by DrakeCross
Summary: The Wild Hunt is defeated and Ciri steps beyond to face the source of the White Frost. However something goes wrong and Geralt risks himself as he follows her, ending up in the land of Westeros. Dealing with new intrigue and politics, he will have to decide who he can trust while trying to save his adopted daughter...along with the lives of both worlds!
1. Prologue: Beyond the Tower

**Forward: This story is based around the Game of Thrones TV series and the Witcher game series set at the final battle of Witcher 3 with Heart of Stone being concluded.**

 **Prologue**

Geralt panted as he sprinted forward, hurrying to the tower that was at the center of a maelstrom of raw magical energy and searing cold winds. The Witcher was tired...body aching after his last duel with Eredin, the master of the Wild Hunt. Yet despite the Ane Elle slayed, things weren't finished yet. The White Frost was coming still and Ciri's fate being tied to it. He wasn't going to stand by and let her die, not after everything he had endured for so many months in searching for her, not after all the friends that had died in protecting her.

Climbing the last flight of stairs, he was soon reached the hollowed out center of the tower. Avallac'h was there, the powerful elven mage channeling the magical energy about the tower, focused it towards the lone sturdy door at the ruined tower's far end. Geralt moved in, silver blade still in hand as he remember Eredin's last words.

" _ **Avallac'h has betrayed us both. He set us against each other…and he's made off with Cirilla."**_

He had said he didn't believe him…yet seeing Avallac'h alone sparked doubt in him. By now the elf had noticed him, finishing his channeling before speaking in his very calm and formal manner.

"Geralt…So unfortunate. I'd hoped you wouldn't have to witness this." Turning about, he'd facing the Witcher with a sorrowful look hinting his sharp featured face.

Geralt stepped closer, expression stern towards the elf. "Where's Ciri?" He simply demanded.

"Nearby. Listen-" Avallac'h started.

"Shut up." Geralt grasped his blade in both hands, stance shifting to fight. "I've heard enough of your bullshit. Draw your weapon, let's get this over with."

Avallac'h stepped back, sensing how frustrated the Witcher was. Yet he'd draw his blade, stance tense before he'd shake his head and tossing his blade aside. He'd look back at Geralt, still keeping that calm look about him even in the face of death.

"Think I'm willing to spare you?" Geralt questioned, suspicious at what the elf mage was planning.

"I think you will not attack one unarmed." The elf countered back.

Geralt tightened his grip on his blade. "Wouldn't be so sure. I'm in a foul mood."

"I am not your foe. I am meagerly helping Cirilla."

"I don't believe you. Can't. Not after all that's happened."

"Will you believe me?" A familiar female voice said off to the side.

Quickly Geralt turnabout, sheathing his blade and relaxing as he saw it was Ciri, although she was now dressed in heavy fur clothes fit for travel. Already he was figuring out what was going on…and that worried him all the more.

"Avallac'h speaks the truth. I asked him to help me open the tower, because I aim to enter it." The way she spoke showed how serious she was on the matter.

"Didn't think it worthwhile to tell me, warn me of your plans?" Geralt questioned, a hint of frustration in his voice.

Ciri took a breath, glancing away slightly before answering back. "I'm sorry. I know, I should have…but I feared you'd not understand." She'd look back at him, with that determined look back in her emerald green eyes.

"Feels like I'm talking to Yennefer." Geralt muttered, head bowed slightly before looking up again. "Leave with me. Please." A hint of desperation showed in his words, showing just how emotional this moment was to him.

"I will, Geralt, once I emerge from the tower. If I emerge." Her voice was soft, at its lowest with those last dreaded words.

"Ithlinne's prophecy is drivel. Destruction is not our fate." He countered back, stepping closer as again emotion was driving him on even as Ciri paced to the edge of the tower, staring over the snowstorm ridden sea.

"You have seen the future, don't you remember?" Geralt glance back at Avallac'h, remembering the world he had seen during his final battle with the Grand Master of Salamandra, the hellish frozen waste that had consumed the world. "Entropy cannot be stopped. The worlds will freeze, one after the other, and all life will parish."

"Avallac'h is right. If I do nothing, humans, elves, all will face destruction." Ciri added, turning back back to face the Witcher.

Geralt shook his head, trying to think of a solution…something other way that all the knowledge he had learned over his life. Yet he had nothing. "There gotta be another way…"

"What can you know about saving the world, silly? You're but a Witcher." Ciri countered back in a soft witty manner, catching him off guard as he had nothing to say back.

Ciri looked to the doorway which was open, snow and white swirling portal energy filling the void. "This is my story, not yours. You must let me finish telling it." She'd pause before moving towards the doorway, ready to fulfill her destiny.

Geralt took a deep breath, realizing he was acting foolish in trying to dissuade her. She was right...the White Frost had to be stopped and only she could do it. "Good luck, Ciri"

She'd pause at the stairs leading to the doorway, turning to look at him once more. "Perhaps I should have told you. I see now you might have understood."

"Know you better than you think." A small smirk hinted his lips, making Ciri softly grin back. "Don't keep me waiting." She'd nod at that final remark, facing back to the doorway and stepping toward it. She'd give a final look back to Geralt, a forlorn look showing across her face before she'd step forward through the portal, vanishing in a flash of light.

Geralt took a deep breath, counting the minutes that pass by while Avallac'h stood by, silently watching the portal.

…. 

Ciri fell forward roughly as portal flung her into a wasteland being ravished by an endless snowstorm. She shielded her eyes from the frost, quickly glancing around her harsh surroundings as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. Despite everything Avallac'h learned about the Frost, he didn't know how her Elder Blood could stop it. However she'd focus on the icy slope ahead, seeing light at the top of it. She felt that that was the way to go…the source of the White Frost.

She'd struggle through the wind and snow, narrowing her eyes as the light ahead was so intense…yet something shifted before it. Nearing the slope's top a tall figure stepped forward, silhouette by the light yet revealing a shocking appearance. The figure was dressed in dark armor, yet not like the heavy ornate pieces the Wild Hunt wore. The skin looked rough and a chilled pale blue, almost as if ice had frozen over the figure's skin like a second layer. The face was sharp angled like an elf's yet had that rough look across it. All around his bare head were a series of evenly set spikes that forms into a natural crown.

Ciri's emerld eyes locked with the figure's, whose gaze was a pure icy blue. They were cold, calculating and lacking any emotion towards her, not even hate. Already her mind was racing, trying to figure out what this creature was since it was nothing like any monster Vesemir's books and lessons had shown. Yet there was no denying it, the way the storm molded around the figure showed that he controlled it. She'd drew Gwyhyr as arcane energy flowed around her, her Elder Blood's power being shown. A hint of curiosity just hinted in those piercing blue eyes before Ciri rushed at him, blade striking down to end him…

….

Geralt felt something was wrong. His gut feeling never failed him and his wolf amulet was vibrating intensely. Avallac'h's calm expression broke as shock crossed his face. "No…this isn't right." He muttered before waving his hands, muttering incantations. The doorway surged with energy, making Geralt tense and draw is silver sword, ready for anything that may come through the portal.

"Damn it Avallac'h, what is going on!?" He snapped out as another surge went out through the tower, flinging him and the elf off their feet. Both landed roughly to the ground, struggling back up as quickly as possible. "I'm not sure. Something is disrupting the portal. The connection is breaking yet it isn't subsiding!" The elf male yelled out over the howling winds. "I have to try and direct it. Ciri must not have finished her task…yet her presence on the other side as affected it!" Again he'd continue his spell casting while Geralt stared back at the portal, thinking over the elf's words. Did Ciri die…did the Frost kill her somehow? It couldn't have ended that way could it? Gripping his blade, he cursed at his powerlessness, yet knew that something had to be done.

"I'm going through. I don't care…prophecies and blood lines be damned, I'm not letting this happen." He rushed for the portal Avallac'h surprised at the Witcher's actions.

"Geralt, here is no telling where you'll go! You mustn't-" He started yet another surge of magical energy pulsed forward. The Witcher reached the portal at that moment, crying out as the burst of power shocked his body. He gritted his teeth, dealing with the pain even as his nerves felt like they were in fire. The familiar lurging feeling of the portal could be felt, that feeling which he hated so much. Yet this time it was more intense, stronger than even the time he had traveled between worlds with Avallac'h. Much like Ciri, he was gone in a flash of light as one final surge before the doorway crumbled from the raw power.

Being pulled through, he'd see his surroundings rapidly change. Places he had been to, seeing events of the past, worlds strange and alien. It was so rapid that it was blinding while the physical pull stressed his body to its limits. At last though everything came to a slamming halt as he felt his body crash against a rough solid ground, making everything black out.

…

Slowly Geralt started to wake up, head feeling as if a troll had smacked him about and body aching as if he had fell from a cliff. He felt snow against his face along with sharp rumble scraping against the right side of his face which was pressing to the ground. Grunting, he'd push himself up onto his knees, panting as he catched his breath while examining his surroundings, being in the center of a clearing of some forest.

It was easy to tell that he wasn't on Skellige because of the trees, they weren't fitting for the cold islands but more for mountainous inland. Already he questioned if he was in some other world taken by the Frost or perhaps the prime world where it originated. Maybe he was just all the way at Kaer Morhen…and everything had just been a bad dream.

"I wish…" He muttered as he'd staggered up to his feet, groaning in pain before grasping at his right side. Considering his experience with injuries, he could tell that a rib or two was broken, nothing that Swallow and rest would do. However his sharp ears hear something in the surrounding woods, a heavy foot breaking twigs. Survival instinct had the Witcher on guard, grasping his silver blade, waiting for a sign of who or whatever lurked about.

From the thick tree line, a gruff figure armed with a crude axe stepped into view. For a moment Geralt thought it was a Skelliger warrior but noticed how the clothing was far too primitive in design. The bearded man grunted, speaking out in some unknown language while waving his axe about in a threatening manner.

"Easy now, not looking to fight." Geralt spoke back, biting back pain from his injured side. Slowly he'd sheath his silver blade, though was to draw his steel if needed. The man looked confused at the Witcher, obviously not understanding him before grinning after a moment. Again he spoke, tone calmer as he'd lower his axe and relax his stance, though Geralt saw how man's other hand shift to a rusty throwing knife at his hip.

As soon as that knife was thrown, Geralt's sword was out as he batted the blade away midflight with a resounding clang. The raider gave a wide eyed look of shock before yelling out in some kind of warning cry. It was cut short as Geralt rushed forward, growling out as anger and adrenaline drove him, the enchanted steel blade slice right into the man's shoulder and cleave through to his hip. Blood and gore flew about as the severed torso and lower body fell aside, right as more angry yells followed. Three more raiders storms out at him, gruff faces fierce with anger.

"Come on you pieces of filth!" Geralt growled out before making the Quin sign with his left hand, a short shimmer of yellow energy pulsing as a shield around him. Quickly he was surrounding, three of the wild men quickly attacking form all sides. Being wounded and angry left his defenses low, yet the Quin sign guarded him as he'd slash left and right. His blade would block a worn sword while a spike of shocking magic stopped an axe from cutting into his back, making his attacker yell out in pain. One by one they dropped, a blade to the gut, an arm severed and another fried by the defensive sign breaking.

Panting, he saw more wild raiders swarming from the woods, nearly a dozen from a glance. Always the same, men never giving up even after seeing their friends dismembered or magic being used. Right now he didn't care if they were all suicidal…he'd fight them all! As the first line of men closed in he'd make the Igni sign as a wide arch of flames burst forth, setting the group aflame. They howled and stumbled around only for him to move in cutting each flailing man down. More hateful yells and cries came from the second wave which he ignored as he drew a grapeshot from his hip pouch. Lighting the boom, he threw it out to land in the middle of the charging group, ensuring he'd hit all of them. The resulting explosion ripped the men apart and split nearby trees apart, leaving only a chilling silence afterwards.

Panting, he'd step back to survey the battle, leaning back against a tree to steady himself. Over a dozen of the raiders were dead, small fires burning around from both his Igni sign and the bomb. "Any more…any one?" He spoke out, exhaustion and anger making him lose a bit of composure for the moment. Taking a deep breath to sigh, he'd take out a Swallow and gulp the potion down. Shivering from the taste, a soothing feeling soon course through him to quicken his recovery. Taking a moment to close his eyes to calm himself, he'd soon hear a new sound approaching him, the hooves of horses.

Opening his eyes, he'd shift to stand straight as he felt party recovered and focused once more. Soon from a more open part of the woods, three men in leather and chainmail rode in on horseback, each carrying round steel shields with the mark of a snarling wolf on it. Geralt could tell they were soldiers from their gear and the way they acted, although their expressions showed shock at the death and destruction before them.

Quickly, all three of them focused on Geralt who stared them all down. His sword was still out, held low to his side. The soldiers had their spears up slightly as one rider moved up, keep his weapon at the ready. "Who are you outsider?" The man spoke, his accent deep and tone stern. The language was that of the northern kingdoms though the dialect was different to a degree.

"Geralt of Rivia…" The Witcher simply stated.

"Rivia? Is that some land from Essos?" The soldier quickly questioned. "I can't say I've seen anyone like you either. Armor is unlike anything I've seen…two swords…white hair and-" He'd pause when he saw those eyes, yellow in color and cat like. It caught him off guard and grip his weapon more tightly. "Did you kill all of these Wildings? There must be a dozen, yet you're alone."

Geralt, paused before nodding. "Yah…they attacked me suddenly. Couldn't understand them before their swarmed." He explained.

Again the guards muttered about each other, giving warily looks to the white haired man. "Outsider, in the name of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, you are to accompany us back to the capital keep for questioning." The leading guard requested.

Already Geralt realized that he wasn't in the Northern Kingdoms…well…HIS version of the Northern Kingdoms. He didn't know about any Lord Stark or Winterfell, the first hints of being in some different world. "I take refusing isn't a choice?" He asked.

The guard simply nodded, the other two tensing slightly.

Sighing, Geralt sheathed his steel blade before stepping towards the three soldiers. "Fine I'll come along. I'd rather not cause trouble with the lordship."

"Smart man…We're a few days away yet the King's Road will get us there quick. Hopefully you can share more about yourself and where with 'Rivia' is."

"Trust me…I have just as many questions." The Witcher muttered back, feeling that difficult times were coming ahead. Right now, he had to follow along, learn as much as he could and then find Ciri, if she was even in this world.

…


	2. S1-E1: Road to Winterfell

**Chapter 1: Road to Winterfell**

Geralt never liked be disarmed, yet often in situations like this he had little choice. Considering they had found the Witcher surrounded by a dozen dead raiders, they were obviously on guard with him. The three men acted quite professional though, not like the rude and bumbling Redanian soldiers he had dealt with in the past. No doubt it was because these men didn't know what he was exactly, although their odd looks were more of curiosity than hate or hostility. For now, two of them were focused on searching the slain Wildlings, examining their wounds and searching for any possible valuables as well.

The only time their soldierly manners faded was when they got a chance to examine his blades, muttering in fascination at the ornate yet deadly craftsmanship. The hand crossbow really had them surprised, showing that such weapons either didn't exist or were very rare.

"The belt pouch please." One of the soldiers asked, making Geralt give a short glare at him. "Have to check that too, don't want any hidden weapons."

Geralt was silent for a moment before speaking. "I don't think it be safe for you to handle what it's carrying." He calmly stated.

The soldier gave an annoyed look at the sudden remark. "You've be behaving so far, yet you shouldn't threaten a soldier of House Stark." He warned.

"Not threat, a warning." Geralt answered back, trying to be reasonable with the man. "This bag has some sensitive mixtures. Keep it away from fire and don't drink anything. It's not safe for you." He'd hand the pouch over, the man surprise at the weight to it before he'd check inside to see the small stash of potions and bombs.

"You're an alchemist and a swordsman?" The guard questioned as he'd set the pouch on his horse saddle along with the Witcher's other weapons.

"More of a jack of all trades." Geralt remarked back. "My line of work requires me to be flexible for any situation."

"And what kind of profession is that?"

Geralt was silent for a moment before he'd answer back. "A Witcher…where I come from it's a title for the most elite sellswords.

"Witcher? Odd name considering."

"Didn't have much of a say on the title." Geralt added with a small shrug.

By this point the other two soldier would finish their searching. "Dozen Wildlings, largest group we've had in a few years." One guard muttered, just enough for Geralt to hear. "You think one man took them all on?" Again both soldiers eyed the white haired man, who calmly watched them both. "Got the look of a warrior about him. Not sure what to make of him…the white hair, pale skin and them eyes." They'd speak in lower voices before the group moved to mount their horses.

"The nearest village is at a day's ride. We'll get a horse for you there, but for now you'll have to walk along with us." The leading soldier explained.

"Great…will we at least be camping soon?" Geralt grumbled, not that eager walking after hours of fighting and running around. If anything, it took a lot of willpower and all the Swallow mixtures keeping him together.

The soldier thought for a moment, seeing the stressed hint that the Witcher's stance had. "Yes…I say in a few hours at least. Just want to give us some distance from this area in case of more Wildlings lurking around."

Geralt nodded as he'd followed the three soldier through the woods, soon arriving at a wide clear stretch of road. He'd be silent the whole walk, taking time to think over what might of happened to Ciri. If anything he could be a world away from her, after all her elder blood was what allowed her to reach the world the White Frost originated at. Right now, he needed help and so far Ned Stark, Warden of the North sounded like his best chance of getting help.

…

As the sunset, the group would find a clear spot off the King's Road to camp for the night. One of the soldiers would be sitting by the tied up horses on guard duty while the other two and Geralt rested by the fire. The soldiers had been nice enough to share their rations with the Witcher, yet jerky and other dried food wasn't the most appealing dinners he had had of late.

"Heh…you know I realize I haven't bother to introduce myself." The lead soldier remarked as he finished his ration and removed his metal domed helmet. The man with short cut dark hair, least middle aged with quite the worn faced and having a visible three racking scars across his face, no doubt from an animal attack or a certain weapon.

"The name is Graffin, the unofficial leader of this patrol. I've been serving House Stark for twenty years and fought Robert's Rebellion about…Nearly twenty five years back." The man chuckled a bit, scratching his scruffy chin as he'd see Geralt's questioning look. "If you don't know about the Rebellion, then your must have been living under a rock for an over twenty years. Even the most distant realms of Essos knows the story."

"Then perhaps you should tell me everything then. Give me a run down on what the country's situation is like." Geralt remarked back. "Just the basics at least. Then I'll tell you whatever I can about my country and recent events."

"Huh, fair enough...hope you can keep up with all of this." The soldier chuckled as he'd get a big flask and pour up some drink. Geralt already had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

…

The next few hours Graffin shared everything he knew about the last two decades about Westeros. The history of the Targaryen reign, the different Houses that managed the vast Seven Kingdoms, life in the north, Robert's Rebellion and much more. Even for a sharp mind like Geralt's it was a lot to take in.

Graffin finished his third mug for the night, giving a sigh after downing the last of his drink. "Alright I've talked your ear off long enough. Your turn I guess."

Geralt smirked a bit at the jesting, already thinking over how to answer. "Sad to say my story may be just a long. How about you decide, would you rather know about where I came from or my past?"

Graffin paused thinking it over. "Tell me about yourself. I've had enough talk on kingdoms and politics for one night." Checking his flask, he'd grumble a bit. "Not enough ale to numb myself even."

"I'd offer some of mine if my horse and saddlebags weren't missing."

"Heh, a good gesture at least." The man said with a small laugh. "Alright then let's start with your little title. You said you're from Rivia, is that the kingdom you were born in? If anything, that is a knightly title as well."

"Right about being knighted, although wrong of being born there. The region is really two kingdoms in a close alliance with the other kingdom being Lyria. The surname I took was part of training as a Witcher." Geralt calmly explained.

"Witcher…Strange name at that. Does that make you some male witch or something?" The soldier jested.

"It's the name for the order of warrior monks I grew up with. My parents left me at one of their holds called Kaer Morhen when I was just a baby. Once I was old enough to swing a practice sword, they began my training. Trained with a lot of other kids…most didn't make it either leaving, being dismissed or…accidents happening." Pausing, he'd continue on. "Once we passed the final tests we go through the Trial of Grasses, a series of rituals involving herbs and potions that that only the order knows about." He kept the details vague since he knew little of the process and didn't want to include the more magical elements the Trial had.

"Is that why you're eyes are all…well...cat like along with your hair being white?" Graffin asked, a true curiosity showing in his eyes. "Heard of odd stories about alchemists, making all sorts of strange mixtures that can change a man."

"Pretty much. The eye change gives me better sight for tracking and low light vision. The hair, that's just a side effect I had from additional mixtures being given to me. I reacted well to the Trial unlike most."

"What do you mean?"

"The Trial stresses the body. Not sure how it does it but it makes the body strong, faster and tougher. However not everyone can handle it. Maybe is a physical issue or just plain bad luck." Pausing, he'd give a small sigh. "Three out of ten who take the Trial don't make it through. They can die, become crippled or go mad." It was a blunt answer that drew a shocked look from the soldier.

"So you meaning you can go through all that rigorous training only for a few herbs to ruin you? Just…what are you Geralt?" A hint of shock showed in the man's eyes, troubled at this new detail.

"Simple, a Witcher." Geralt calmly stated.

"Still haven't explained WHAT a Witcher does." Graffin questioned.

At this point Geralt paused, unsure how to answer back. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." He stated after a moment.

"Ha! Try me." Graffin scoffed as he'd lean back where he sat.

"A Witcher's duty is to hunt and kill monsters that threatened human lives. From the fiercest beasts to the most otherworldly specter, curses, wild magic and the like. Whenever someone disappeared suddenly, odd noises in the woods or violent attacks on the road, people would know to hire a Witcher to figure out what is wrong."

For a moment Graffin said nothing yet smirked before chuckling, shaking his head before bursting out laughing. Geralt had expected as much, yet couldn't help but frown in annoyance. "Hahaha. I-I'm sorry but that is rich Geralt. You mean to say you're a monster slayer? Did you go off to slaying ghouls and goblins? That's just superstitious talk that common folk fear over things they can't see or understand."

"I told you wouldn't believe me. Laugh all you want, it's the truth." Geralt kept that calm look while the soldier calmed down from his laughter.

"Look, we have our stories and legends on monsters. Heck we've were ruled by a nobility that rode dragons. Yet in the end, time and war killed the fire breathers while all the talk of fairies and ghosts became little more than fireside tales."

Geralt shrugged, deciding not to argue with the man. At the least his disbelief made the topic short lived. Graffin however spoke up again. "Still, I can tell that training paid off considering what you did to the Wildlings. If one Witcher can do that much, imagine if we had a dozen of you fighting during the Rebellion."

"Sort of against our teachings to be involved on matters of politics and kingdoms. Last time that happened we had a whole order wiped out." Geralt remarked back. "The Witchers had multiple school across the kingdoms, yet false rumors and fear led to most of them being wiped out." He remembered Vesemir's harrowing story of the attack at Kaer Morhen. It was ironic how in the end the fearful peasants killed the ones who had been raised and trained to protect them from the true dangers on their lives.

Graffin saw the distant look Geralt had, getting an idea on what had happened. "Damn…unfair of that to happen." The soldier didn't really know what to say on the matter, shifting a bit uncomfortably. "So, I guess I should get to the point Geralt, how did you end up in the middle of nowhere in the North?"

Geralt was silent, again unsure to be blunt or not. "I was looking for someone. My adopted daughter." He answered back, deciding to give a half the reason. "She had gone on a long journey looking for something and I followed her. As for how I ended up in those woods…I don't remember…" He'd shrug, keeping that neutral look to the soldier. "Just woke up, aching and worn before those raiders and then you showed up."

The soldier was silent for a long moment before nodding. "Sounds quite personal really. Still, never heard of a father letting his daughter go fighting on her own."

"Ciri isn't any normal woman. My own mentor and I taught her everything about fighting and surviving out on the wilds. Those wildlings wouldn't have stood a chance with her." He remarked, a small prideful smirk hinting his lips.

"Ha, I'll take your word on that. If you are looking for her then Lord Eddard can help. There isn't a man in the Seven Kingdoms more honorable and trustworthy then him. Taking care of all those wildlings will surely gain you a good standing with the lordship, maybe even King Robert himself." Graffin said with a small chuckle.

Geralt thought over what the soldier said. If anything the man had a point, right now he was on his own in a completely new world. No allies to back him up, his supplies all stuck on Roach and just a sack full of Orins that maybe worthless here.

The soldier nodded back before shifting up to stand. "Anyway, enough chatting for tonight. I need some shut eye. Tomorrow we'll be heading to town, get some fresh supplies and a horse for you. Then we'll be riding hard for Winterfell, Lord Stark needs to know of the Wildlings sneaking pass the Wall. It shows the Night's Watch is lacking in numbers…or motivation to do their duty." Sighing and shaking his head, he'd shift up to stand. "Anyway, my turn to be on watch. You get some rest, if anything you look like you need it." With that the man moved off to his bedroll, leaving Garelt with more questions now.

However, he was too tired to think over what the man had mentioned of this Night's Watch or this Wall. The Witcher moved to his own bedroll, moving to lay down and relax his sore body. While he felt he should be more on guard, he was just too tired to care. Giving a tired sigh, he'd close his eyes and was quickly into a deep restless sleep.

…

Geralt's dreams were vivid and confusing. He saw visions of Ciri, yelling out in pain a swirling storm of magical energy roared around her. He'd see a vast wasteland rapidly shifting from day to night. A large hall with an empty spiked throne of melted iron. The flashes of the dream became more intense, making his heart race yet suddenly a hand shook him.

"Geralt! Geralt! Wake up!"

The Witcher gasped, almost using Arad in surprise before realizing it was Graffin. "Gods man, you were muttering and shaking in your sleep." The soldier muttered.

"Nothing. Just a bad dream. Stress I guess." Geralt answered back calmly, sitting up and rubbing his head as a small migraine coursed through.

"Alright…" Still the soldier had a concerned look even as Geralt got up, stretching a bit before refitting his fine leather and chain armor.

Soon the camp was packed up and the small group continued their way south down the main road. The weather was brisk yet comforting, being warmer then Geralt had expected. Garffin had said that Westeros had prolonged seasons, which would explain the summer like conditions. By now they had traveled south far enough as all traces of snow were gone.

"Ah here we are!" Graffin pointed out, having the Witcher's attention shift south west.

The woodland cleared away to a wide view of hills and valleys that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Lush fields, thick forests and distant snowcapped peaks were spread across the landscape in a quite breathtaking scene. Down the short hill was a town, a quite well kept one when compared to the war-torn homes he was used to seeing. The villagers were out and about, doing chores or busy out in the nearby farms set close by. It was a quite comforting sight, a normal and peaceful scene really.

As group rode into town, a few villagers gathered up to greet them. "Greetings soldiers. Roads safe and clear today?" One of the older men asked quite politely. It was obvious the people had good respect for Stark soldiers.

"For now. We had discovered a Wildling band a day north from here. Close to the King's Road even." Graffin answered back.

The villager seemed nervous hearing that news. "Were they chased or killed off?"

"Aye, by this fellow here." The soldier chuckled, patting Geralt quite roughly on the shoulder although the Witcher didn't budge even slightly. "This he is Geralt. He's ummm…a wanderer from the far north eastern region of the north." Geralt was surprised at Graffin cover a story about him, yet thankful for it. The villager eyed the Witcher, a surprised look showing across his face when he noticed cat like eyes.

"He has a northerner look about him. Although …what's with his eyes? Plus never seen a man with hair and skin that ghostly." The villager questioned.

"Long story." Geralt quickly remarked back. "Right now these men are escorting me to Winterfell to report what happened. From my understanding these Wildlings aren't meant to be this far south, much less a dozen of them."

The villager nodded, seeming more focused on the matter relating to the Wildlings. "Indeed. They shouldn't be even be on this side of The Wall. Does this mean the Night's Watch is faulting on their watch?"

"That will be a matter that Lord Stark will deal with. Right now we need a good horse for Geralt here and are willing to pay for it being loaned to us. I'll make sure it's returned and that patrols are increased on the road." Graffin offered up, getting out silver from a pouch.

Soon the soldier and villager where busy haggling as they went to the nearby stables, while the other two guards decided to take a moment to rest.

Geralt took a moment to be by himself as he checked around the village notice board, sort of a force of habit really. Quickly he saw there was no unique requests, just local news, offers for labor work and the like. "No disappearances, odd sighting or monsters…" He muttered. It was odd thinking about it, a world where people didn't have to fear of ghouls lurking at night, ghosts haunting their graveyards or griffins stalking the skies. Yet where did that leave him? He was a monster hunter in a world without monsters. However he remembered that wasn't important. Right now, it was finding Ciri, wherever she was in this world.

"Geralt. Got a horse saddled up and ready."

Again Graffin snapped Geralt out of his thoughts as the soldier had a dark brown horse guided over to him, hanging the reins over to the Witcher. "Thank you." Geralt muttered before pulling himself onto the saddle. Turning the horse back towards the road, he'd wait for the soldiers to gather up, yet when Graffin neared, he'd suddenly tug the two Witcher swords off his saddle and offering them back to Geralt.

"Trusting me with my swords?" Geralt questioned as he grasped both weapons, strapping them both across his back.

"Consider this a sign of trust with me. You've behaved well enough and you never know, may need you blade if we run into trouble." Graffin explained with a small chuckle.

"Glad I made such a good impression." Geralt remarked back with a small nod.

"Heh, anyway…let's get moving. I want to get to Winterfell within two days, so no lagging behind!

…

The group of four rode hard down the King's Road, slowing only when their mounts became tired or stopping when nightfall came. Geralt took more time to ask about Westeros, questioning more about topics mentioned earlier. He'd learn more about the folklore of the North ranging from the legends of the First Men and Children of the Forest, The Wall, Night's Watch and the Wildlings. Again, it was a lot to take in yet he take the time to learn as much as possible.

Once morning came, the group resumed their quick pace until Graffin slowed everyone down. "Damn, must be a new record getting here that fast." Geralt looked off to the west, seeing across the green plains a large castle set in the distance. Even from here he could tell it was an old structure yet despite the worn look it seemed maintained and sturdy in design.

"There it is. Winterfell, crowning jewel of the North. Tales say the hold has stood for 8,000 years…quite grand age and sure looks the part."

Geralt just nodded as he and the others rode more casually off the main road, taking another major route towards the keep. He'd see more soldiers patrolling the fields, a horn being blown in the distance to alert the group's approach. "Heh, seems their rolling the welcoming mat for us." Graffin chuckled as the group quickened their pace. Soon the tall walls and sturdy gate of the castle was before them, guards quickly coming to inspect them, yet letting them by after a few hushed words with Graffin.

As the gate opened, Geralt could sense something about the castle…or perhaps someone within in. As the rode into the courtyard he felt a familiar feeling against his neck, making one hand drift to his wolf medallion. For the first time since he arrived on this world it trembled, a sign of some powerful magic about.

Yet what…he wasn't certain yet as he scanned the court yard, pausing only when he saw a young boy standing by an archery range. The boy nocked and arrow yet paused in drawing it back as he glanced at the Witcher. His head tilted slightly in curiosity as Geralt rode by before focusing back on the archery. Already Geralt had a strange feeling about the boy…one that troubled him.

… **.**


	3. S1-E2: At the House of Wolves - Part 1

**Chapter 2: At the House of Wolves - Part 1**

… **.**

Geralt slipped off his mount after a stable hand had gotten the horse tied to a post, Graffin and the other soldiers doing the same. He'd take the time to gaze around the courtyard, getting an idea of his surroundings. The overall castle was well designed, being split from his understanding into multiple quarters which were separated by smaller inner walls and interconnected buildings. From his guess, this place was at least a several acres large, fitting for a family line supposedly as old as the Starks.

"No time to gawk around Geralt. Lord Eddard is expecting us." Graffin spoke up, getting the Witcher's attention.

He'd give a small nod before following the soldier across the courtyard and towards the inner eastern wall where another thick wooden gate separated the spaces. Voices spoke out as the gates were opened and two filed through before being closed behind them. The eastern yard was smaller than the main courtyard yet hosted the largest building he had seen in this hold, a massive hall. The grey stoned building was covered in the banner of a snarling grey wolf, the royal sign of the Stark family. The great wooden and iron doors into the hall were opened as two armored guards saluted to Graffin he gave a respectful nod to the guards as they passed by.

The inside of the hall was quite vast, having eight long tables set evening across the room. Empty braziers were set around the center along with a big fire pit, no doubt lit during dark and colder nights. At the far end of the hall was a small platform with a ninth long table set across it with a series of comfortable wooden chairs set behind it, facing out to the hall. Three men and one woman sat at this table, the oldest of the men sitting in the largest more throne like of the chairs.

Geralt focused on the oldest individual who was at in his forties by his estimate. He wore a fine yet simple leather best with bands crossing over it along with a regal cloak with a wolf pelt across the shoulders. Even with the heavier clothes, Geralt could tell the man was very much fit for his age, honed through years of training and exercise. His hair was a fine deeper brown and beard well-kept to give him a handsome northerner look befitting of a lord. His gaze was hard to read, yet it seemed deep and thoughtful

The two younger men, at least at or reaching their twenties were no doubt his sons because of their similar looks. The one of the left had longer flowing hair of a rich darker color along with a shorter shaven beard across his face. Much like his father, he wore a leather outfit although lacking the more regal hints the lord had. As for the young man on the lord's right, his hair was short and curly yet had the same darker brown color to it. His beard was more grown then his brother, yet finer shaped as well. His clothes were more similar to his father, perhaps hinting him being the closer in line to lordship. Both of them had a curious look at Geralt, the recognizable hint of young warriors sizing up another. He guessed the two blades on his back was what got their attention.

The last individual at the table was a woman, at least in her mid or late thirties by Geralt's estimate. She didn't seem like a northern like the few women he had seen, being softer and fairer looking. Her tied up hair was a lush auburn color and her eyes a piercing blue. She was dressed in a grayish blue gown, showing her quite slim figure. Her gaze seemed quite judging, cautious even from what he could tell.

Graffin stepped up before the gathered nobles, dropping to a knee and giving a short bow of his head. "Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Lord Jon and Robb." He said formally to each individual at the table. "I'm surprised you were prepared for my arrival…I didn't expect news of-" He started before the Eddard spoke up, his voice having resounding command to it yet friendly in tone.

"We were having a small meeting among the household on other matters. Yet from my understanding you've traveled back here in quite the hurry along with…interesting company." His gaze drifted to Geralt, who locked gazes with the man, remaining silent still.

"He is a traveler was found a few days north during our patrol. This man encounter Wildlings, a band of a dozen." Graffin quickly explained, drawing looks of concern between the three men and a worried frown from the woman. "However they didn't escape sire if anything this man slayed them all." The two younger men looked to each other, muttering lowly as they glanced back at Geralt. The woman though had a doubting look to her. As for Ned himself…that steady gaze didn't falter in the slightest at this new detail.

"You are certain? That is quite a claim." Ned questioned calmly.

"I have no reason to lie about it sir. My men searched the area well enough, found no trace of anyone else fighting the raiders. No other footprints or bodies. From what I say of my companion here, he had just finished battling them when we found him."

"I see…" Ned paused, looking back at Geralt. "Stranger, state your name if you will and tell us about this encounter."

Geralt stepped closer to the table, taking a small breath before speaking. "My name is Geralt of Rivia. I'm a Witcher, an elite sellsword from where I come from." Pausing, he'd continue speaking. "I will admit sire, I don't know how I ended up in those woods, only waking up worn and battered. One of those raiders found me, tried to lower my guard before attacking. The rest soon followed up in smaller groups...three or four from my guess. Obviously I won in the end, lucky only getting roughed up in the end. They weren't that skilled considering past foes I faced."

"Quite the confidence about you." The short haired son spoke up suddenly. "Skilled or not though, you were vastly outnumbered. Surely you had something to even the odds."

Eddard looked to his son and then back at Geralt. "My son Robb has a good point Geralt. Such a skirmish would have even the most experienced fighters at their limits. A deeper explanation be desired."

"My style of fighting is very unique and adaptive thanks to my training along with decades of experience. Also my tools go beyond blades and more…exotic weapons which I have surrendered to Graffin." The mention of the soldier's name quickly drew attention back to him.

"Ah right…Geralt is correct. The clearing where the fight happened there was an explosion from what we saw. At least four of the raiders blown to bits from alchemical weapon."

This drew a more surprised look from Ned's gaze as he shifted forward slightly in his seat. "Just what are you Geralt? The more we question about you the more puzzling you are." The man moved to stand up from his seat. "A man with two swords, knowledge of alchemy, hair and skin as pale as snow along with eyes fitting of a beast." One hand tapped at the table as Ned tried to find some logical explanation about Geralt. "I feel you have a lot more to share about yourself."

The Witcher was silent before nodding. "I do. I hope you won't mind hearing my tale?"

Ned sat back down as he gave a small wave to Graffin. "Go ask the servants to get food and drinks ready. I feel we'll be here for a while."

…

Geralt spent a good few hours sharing his story, telling it exactly as he did to Graffin days before. He made sure to exclude any details involving the magical nature to his arrival here, Witcher or Ciri. Robb and Jon both were fascinated by the story while Ned and his wife Catelyn focused on every detail silently. He excluded the detail of monster hunting from his story which Graffin didn't correct on, showing that the soldier didn't care about the lacking detail.

"You have quite the fascinating past Geralt and a troubling matter with you missing daughter." Ned remarked as the story was at last finished.

"Thank you. I'll admit that these few days have been…stressing for me. If anything I shouldn't even be here at all trying to find her." Geralt remarked back.

"And why is that? I'm sure any good father would go to the ends of the world to save someone they hold dear." Ned questioned.

"It's a bit more…complicated than that." After all, how was he meant to explain that Ciri had the power over space and time, much less the boggling complexities of magic? He could tell Ned was an open minded man, yet he couldn't risk sharing such details with him…not just yet at least. "I can't say anything more on the matter. It's personal."

"Keeping secrets doesn't help your cause sir." Catelyn remarked, her voice formal yet stern towards him. "It's obvious you're not from Westeros or even Essos from my understanding…so either you're lying or hiding something."

Geralt had to admit the woman was sharp, even again he was terrible at lying on the stop. It was hard keeping details about his world limited, yet hopefully vague enough. One thing was for sure, this woman didn't trust him. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

The noblewoman kept that steady gaze towards Geralt, doubtful about his claim yet Ned would quickly speak up. "The man has his reasons. It is a personal matter, one that he can freely share at a later date." Looking back at Geralt, he continued speaking. "We can't ignore your actions dealing with the Wildlings, thus you're welcomed to stay here in Winterfell for as long as you wish. No doubt once you've rested and become familiar with the keep, you'll feel more open to telling us more about yourself."

Geralt didn't expect such a patient reaction from the Lord, yet so far Eddard acted unlike any noble he had met before. He didn't impose his title like past rulers and treated him like a normal person despite his Witcher traits. Obviously, Eddard was a level headed individual or at least honorable enough to not be demanding towards him. Or perhaps the Northerner saw him as a useful ally…although Geralt already was thinking the same thing of the lord.

"I'll admit it's been a tiring week for me. I just need some time to rest, eat and get my bearings." Geralt answered back in a thankful manner. "Still I'm willing to do my part around the keep. Can work around the grounds, tend to any injured you may have or help the men train." The mention of training had Jon and Robb mutter to each other, along with Ned giving a thoughtful look. After all they all were curious to see the Witcher was capable of. "One request I have is if I can use your library. I'd like to research on certain matters and learn as much of the Seven Kingdoms as quickly as possible."

Ned thought for a moment before nodding. "Hmm…I see no issue with your request. For now, I recommend you take some time to look around Winterhold while the servants get your quarters arranged."

Geralt gave a respectful nod back. "Thank you Lord Stark. If there is nothing else, I'd like to take some time alone."

"Nothing else Geralt. I will call for you if anything comes up."

With that, the Witcher turned to leave yet even as he moved across the hall he could hear the low mutterings between the four nobles, yet was certain they were debating about the story he had shared. Leaving the great hall, the guards shut the gate and escorted him back to the main courtyard. Graffin was nowhere to be found, no doubt taking a long break after the days of traveling.

"Seems like I am on my own." Geralt muttered to himself, glad to no longer have anyone looking over his shoulder. If anything, he needed time to do some tests, somewhere private to see how his Signs were working. Also his wolf medallion still hummed lightly, hinting that a large source of power or someone with potent magic was nearby. His gaze drifted around the large court yard, trying to notice anything or one that stood out. However, he'd hear hushed voice, young and female in tone, coming from the archway leading to the Great Keep.

"We shouldn't bother him Arya." The older voice muttered nervously.

"I just wanted to see if it was true. Never seen anyone carrying two swords on their back like that." A younger more excited voice muttered back.

"He could be dangerous. I don't like those scars and…I heard he killed a dozen people." The other voice argued back.

"A dozen Wildlings Sansa. The spooky raiders you whimper about whenever Old Nan tells a story." Arya teased to Sansa.

"I do not!" Sansa snapped in an annoyed manner yet gasped when she realized Geralt was standing right there, arms crossed and giving a questioning look at the two girls.

The eldest girl was a fair young woman with long light brown hair and was dressed in a lovely northern dress and cloak. It was easy to tell by her looks and finer clothes that she was one of Lord Ned's daughters since she had a fitting look of her parents, mainly from her mother's side. She glanced away shyly, seeming nervous by his gruff appearance.

The young girl had darker brown hair styled into two pigtails along the sides of her head. Her dress was plainer yet more fitting for outdoors. If anything she almost reminded Geralt of a younger Ciri with the way she looked at him with curious yet confident gaze. She stare at the Witcher's cat like eyes, a hint of surprise showing on her face for a moment.

"You do have cat eyes! And you said the guards were lying! Arya remarked at her sister, a small smirk crossing her face while Sansa muttered, no doubt having betting on the matter.

Geralt couldn't help but give a small chuckle at her reaction. "Funny. Most people normally cower when they see them." He remarked back. "Then again people back home are overly superstitious."

"So is it true you're a mercenary? They say you're from some far off place across the Narrow Sea, a master swordsman even. I mean…that's why you use two swords right because you wield them both?" The young girl quickly asked.

He guessed the cover story from being from this continent of Essos was spreading. So far it seemed only the older Starks and Graffin knew the vague truth about his origins.

"Don't normally duel wield them. Normally use steel while silver is for more special occasions." He explained to the young girl.

"Like what? I mean isn't silver a poor choice of metal for weapon?" Arya commented.

"Huh…reading up on weapon crafting?" Geralt questioned, not expecting someone like her to know such a detail.

She'd shrug, a small smirk on her face. "Did ask the smith's apprentice a few questions very so often. Nan always tells myths and legends special weapons that can kill…well…"

"Monsters?" Geralt suddenly added in which caught Arya by surprise, who gave a small nod.

"Yah like that! I mean you don't actually kill monsters though?"

Geralt paused as he thought on how to answer. "I do kill such creatures if you'll believe it. I can say they're real enough from what I come from. Ghouls, ghosts and the like lurking around the dark places of the world."

Arya beamed when she heard his answer while Sansa rolled her eyes, obviously not believing what he said and thinking he was humored her younger sister. "I hope you mean it…so you better tell me a story about a hunt." The young girl demanded.

"Of course, for another time though." He answered back with a small smile. If anything Arya reminded him a lot of a younger Ciri which the way she acted. It at least improved his mood after the last rough few days. "I do have one question; do you have a shrine or sacred place here?"

Arya thought for a moment. "There is the small Sept of the Seven yet that is a boring place really. The Godswood and the Weirtree though-" Arya started before Sansa shushed her and spoke up.

"The Godswood is restricted though to our family and those invited into it. Arya seems to forget that detail after all." Sansa quickly explained, speaking sternly to her young sister who grumbled in annoyance.

"I understand. I'll have to ask you father next time then."

Sansa just nodded before shifting back to the Great Keep door. "Anyway we have bothered you long enough Sir Geralt. My sister and hi have to go back to our practices before mother notices." Arya gave a small sigh of boredom on the matter yet knew her sister was right.

"Goodbye Geralt! Umm…maybe you will show us how you fight during one of the training days!" Arya quickly remarked before Sansa tugged her back into the Keep.

Geralt gave a small wave as the two girl left before looking back around the court yard. To the north-west he could just make out tall trees over the many layers of walls the made up the keep. He couldn't tell how big the wooded area was, yet from what he saw of the keep from the outside, it must be at least a few acres. He was tempted to try sneak in yet knew that be a big risk. The last thing he needed was angering the Starks while in their good graces. For now, though his attention to one of the passing guards.

"Can you point me to the guest house and library tower?" Geralt asked simply yet politely.

"Sure. The tower is just right there." The man pointed to a large rounded tower that was set at one corner of the kenals area. "Guest House is across the Great Keep." He'd then point to a large building that build into a part of the north western edge of the courtyard wall.

"Thank you." Geralt answered back, the guard giving a nod before continuing his patrol. Looking to the tower, Geralt guessed now be a good time to check it out, get some light reading done before settling in for the night. The tower had two entrances, a main door at the front and a winding stairway along the tower's side. The long guard by the door nodded as Geralt approached, entering into a lodge area with chairs and small tables set around a large fireplace which was lit with a low burning fire. There were some bookcases set around along with loose tomes set around, no doubt from pass guests or the Starks readings. A quick check showed most of the books here were about general facts and knowledge, nothing that interested him.

Moving upstairs, he'd stop when he heard a low voice, an older man from what he could tell from the tone of the voice and light coughing. The second floor had a more fitting look of a library and study about it, with tall bookshelves stretched out in rows with ladders set around to reach the higher shelves. Geralt tracked down the source cough to find an old balding man dressed gray woolen robes along with a metal chain that was wrapped around his front.

"No need to hide yourself sir." The man said, his voice formal and clear despite his age. "If anything, it's rare to have anyone visit the tower here, much less an outsider such as yourself."

"You can say I'm a special. I'm Geralt of Rivia, Witcher." He replied as he moved closer to the man, noticing he was reading over scrolls and letters spread across an angled desk.

"Rivia…huh. I know my lands well sir, yet I can't say I've heard of such a country." The old man chuckled.

"Let's just say it's very far off."

The old man shrugged, a small amused grin on his face. "I believe an introduction is needed from me. I am Maester Luwin, advisor of the Stark family."

"I take that is the job of a Maester? Sounds like quite the important title." Geralt question.

"Ah you'd be right my friend." Luwin answered back with a nod as he'd roll up a scroll. "We Maesters are learned men dedicated to understanding of knowledge and truth. Herb lore, medicine, warcraft, history, economics and much more. No matter how small a noble house one Maester always serves it."

"Quite impressive considering. Where I come from such learning is more privileged to most and doesn't cover so many subjects. Oxenfort University was the closest form of high learning in the lands I come from, only the late king to have it shut down recently." Geralt remarked back.

"Sounds like your land was in troubled time if knowledge was being shut away like that." Luwin muttered in a concerned manner.

"Considering the church was rounding up anyone who knew out to mix water with any plant into a salve or speak in just another language, all in the name of ending witchcraft…yah…it was troubling."

The grim details had the Maester give a more wide-eyed look before turning to face the Witcher, his chain rattling about. "Just who are you Geralt? I was told that a scarred warrior came to out keep, a man who slew a dozen Wildlings." The man's eyes had a sharper look, looking over Geralt calculating as he seemed more alert then before. "Your age, I cannot determine it from a glance. The face tells me more middle aged yet the scars add more to my estimate. Physically though your body seems to be in its prime...perhaps farther then that considering. Your eyes are…" At that moment the Maester paused, having just noticed the Witcher's feline like gaze, yet he didn't question it just yet. "You are obviously learned considering how you speak. Can you explain the proper uses of milk of the poppy?"

Geralt knew the man was testing him and felt this maybe a good chance to win his favor. "A useful painkiller and anesthetic. Best taken in small doses from minor pains, drops mixed with drink. More serious issues should involve purer doses yet limited to avoid addiction. Back home healers prefer mixing it with alcohol for open wounds, numbs the pain and cleans the cuts." The Witcher clearly detailed.

"Interesting. Simple yet to the point answer…the last part I'll keep in mind since I've never thought to use the milk on such injuries." Luwin muttered with a small nod. "How far does your studies go sir Geralt?"

"Most of what you cover along with more exotic subjects." The Witcher answered back. "In my profession one needs to knowledge to get the job properly done, else that means someone getting hurt…or killed."

"Curious. You'll have to share more with me at a later time then."

"Gladly." Geralt paused though, thinking for a moment. "However could you give me a list of books? You know this place better then I. History about the Seven Kingdoms, the Houses, mythology, Night's Watch and this Wall."

"Quite the collection you're asking for." The old man moved about the library, seemingly finding every book the Witcher had asked for. "Ah if only the young masters were as inquisitive as you. They'd be wise leaders once of age." Soon a large pile was set on the desk yet already Geralt was shifting through them, picking one a black book with a raven crest, which of the Night's Watch, then a brown book titled Wonders Made by Men.

"Thank you. This will helpful for me." Geralt said as he flipped through a few pages.

"What interests you so much about The Wall so much Geralt?" Luwin asked.

"A hunch really. Heard bits and pieces traveling here and I just want to be sure." Geralt answered back as he leaned over the desk, cat like eyes rapidly scanning across the page's words.

"Well if you have any questions, seek me out. For me…" The Maester moved to collect his letters and scrolls. "…I have arrangements to sort out. King Robert and the Lannisters will be visiting within a few months. It has been years since the King has been up north, much less seen Lord Eddard." Sighing, he'd move to leave the Witcher alone. "Anyway, enjoy your studies Geralt."

The Witcher nodded, having not looked away from his book as he was curious over one page detailing the Night's Watch, mainly their founding history and purpose. Already Geralt was getting that this land had a long history stretching thousands of years. Maybe this information was misleading or just driven by myth. The book mentioned the Wildlings obviously, the wild people of the frozen north…yet one other mention was given.

"White Walkers…The Others…" Geralt muttered as he turned glanced at the book pile. He felt he needed to look into every detail about these beings. Myth or not, the vague details alone were too connecting to be coincidence. That alone made him all the more worried for Ciri.

…


	4. S1-E3: At the House of Wolves Part 2

**Chapter 3: At the House of Wolves – Part 2**

… **.**

Geralt's first week in Winterfell was a private one as he kept to his guest quarters and the Library Tower, studying through every book about this world's history. He was surprised at just how deep and rich Westeros history was, a fascinating yet confusing read. The farther back he read the more vague and fantastical history sounded. Then again, a few hundred years ago the continent had been conquered by dragon riding nobles who has escaped an empire destroying disaster. The oldest details on the continent's history were about First Men and the Children of the Forest, a mysterious and magical race which sounded like Godlings back home. The books all varied on what the ancient history truly was ranging from the humans and Children warring, the two living in peace or the sudden arrival of the White Walkers during the either their war or peace time.

"Now I remember why I hate oral history. Facts get muddled when they finally decide to write it all down." Geralt grumbled as he shifted his attention to another book.

One thing that he focused on though was the White Walkers. No clear description or history was given about these beings, only that they lived in the coldest reaches of the north where no man has ever braved. Some stories detailed them as graceful elf like beings, others being an ancient human race like the Valyrian's. Often though they are described as monstrous creatures, yet no clear description was given. However, the books detailed the signs of their arrival, that of endless life consuming winter…just like the White Frost the prophecies back home detailed. Maybe these White Walkers were the source of this Frost…or they were simply a coincidence of this world…

"Maybe they're just a myth that I'm getting too wrapped up in." He grumbled as again the books gave no answers, slamming the last book shut with a frustrated sigh.

Leaning back, he'd look to the nearby candles as he idly fiddled the Igni Sign with his fingers, making the flames puff out before igniting again. However, when he tried again the flames didn't go. He was certain he did the Sign right as he tried again and a second time. A third time got the candles lit once more, making him sigh in relief.

"Signs been getting weaker each day, means the Source in this world is weak." He muttered, having been testing his Signs secretly outside of the keep. Indeed every time he used them they were becoming harder to use and less powerful. If this had been happening back home he'd be more worried yet since this world lacked monsters he felt less concern. Fighting humans with Signs made most fights one-sided as he thought back to his encounter with the Wildlings. If he hadn't had Quin he would have been cut down quickly and Igni had wiped out a third of the group.

"Getting too reliant." He'd close his eyes, thinking back on Vesemir lessons during fencing training. The elder Witcher always surprised Geralt with his sword fighting skills, often relying on them more than his Signs. Thinking of his mentor did bring back painful memories, mainly his death by the Wild Hunt, yet he pushed that aside. Focusing on the present, he thought over the time he spent learning about the people who lived here in Winterfell, from the Stark family to they're loyal household and advisors.

Overall he felt the Starks were honest and honorable nobles, a first for him considering. Most kings he had met were often looked down on him or judge him for being a mutant. Foltest was the closest friend he had had among nobility, yet he had been a flawed man as well. Ned's only real sin was his bastard son Jon Snow, a child he sired during Robert's Rebellion. Yet he seemed to have raised Jon properly, though Geralt could tell his wife Catelyn had a silent scorn for the young man. Still it wasn't his business to question this family's values, being their guest after all.

Looking out the small window in his room, he could tell that it was quite the clear and warm day with the yard being quite busy as well. The clanking of weapons from soldiers training, banging of hammer and anvil along with the laughter of children. He still couldn't get over the normal and peaceful nature Winterfell had since even the most orderly places back on his world was suffering in some way from the Nilfgaard conquest. However, his sharp ears heard heavy footsteps just outside his door, followed by strong knock and familiar voice.

"Oi! Geralt! You're still alive in there aren't you?" Graffin spoke out through the heavy wooden door.

Giving a sigh, Geralt got out of his seat and moved to unlock the door to see the northern guard. The man had groomed himself since he last saw him a few days back, having trimmed up his beard and hair. He was dressed in a fitting leather jerkin like most of the men at the hold wore whenever the weather got warm enough, a suitable outfit for training and work.

The soldier glanced into the room, seeing the mess of books and papers all around the nearby desk. "If I didn't know better I'd think you'd be aspiring to be a Maester with how much you have there." Graffin chuckled, making Geralt give a small annoyed sigh at the jest.

"Have a lot to learn considering. A few thousand years of feudal history is a lot to take in." The Witcher remarked back. "Besides all that, a lot of this is personal research. Important with finding my daughter."

"Ah…Can understand your reasons there." Graffin muttered, being more somber being reminded of Ciri. "Still it's not healthy to be cooped up in there for days. You need to fresh air and sunlight to help with your ummm…complexion." He'd gesture at Geralt who frowned a bit at what the soldier's attempt to be amusing. "Look, everyone is talking about you. They want to see the lost Valyrian who crawled out of the woods."

"Huh…guess I do look like one if the books I've read are correct." Geralt muttered back.

"Eh, I think lack the dashing looks, far too gruff and scarred by my reckoning." Graffin jested, drawing another small scowl from the Witcher.

"So getting to the point, I take you want me to go out and spar with the others? Show them how one man like me slew a dozen Wildlings?"

"Pretty much yah." The soldier chuckled. "I'd be lying if I didn't want to see how you fight. When I checked your blades I could tell the design implies a unique style…just not sure which." Giving a shrug, he continued to speak. "So, are you going to stand there or go out there?"

"If it will get you and everyone off my back…fine. Guess I could use the exercise. Give me a few minutes." Before the soldier could even speak back, he had the door closed as he'd move to get his Wolf school armor from the nearby chest. Once fully armored, he'd make his way through the Guest House and outside to the Court Yard.

…

His attention focused to the center of the yard were Graffin was already chatting with the gathered men, two of which he recognized as Jon Snow and older man with an odd 'mutton chop' hair style that tied under his chin who seemed to be drilling the soldiers.

"At last our mysterious guest reveals himself. Geralt correct? My name is Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master-At-Arms for House Stark." The older man said, in a friendly deep voice, offering one hand towards the Witcher.

Geralt reached out and shook it, being surprise at the man's quite strong grip considering his age. "Glad to meet you Rodrik. I apologize if I've been a bit reclusive, just been needing some time to rest up."

"Understandable. At the least I'm glad you've come to join us for a bit of training. Bet a fellow like you can beat a little skill into the youngsters here." The Master-At-Arms chuckled out while the younger trainees gave annoyed looks.

"Think you're putting too much faith in the man Rodrik. He looks half stitched up with all the cuts he has and has more grays then even you." One of the younger men spoke out, stepping out from the main group. He had been chatting with Jon, the two seeming good friends from what Geralt could tell. He also seemed out of place among the northerners in appearance yet seemed to fit in well with the group.

"Then by all means Theon, you get to fight him first if you feel so confident." Rodrik answered back, drawing short look of surprise and nervousness from Theon.

He had heard about Theon, a political ward of Eddard's. From what he knew from around the keep, Theon's father was the ruler of the Iron Isles who tried to rebel against the new King Robert. Yet for a 'prisoner' he seemed happy and free enough with even quite the prideful ego.

Geralt smirked as the young man quickly hid his reaction, giving a huff as he'd move to the nearby weapon rack to get a training blade. "Fine…no complaints here." He muttered as he'd flex his sword arm and get a feel of the weapon's grip while the Witcher moved to check over the other blades.

He'd check over each of the practice swords to find the right one to fight with. By the time he picked his weapon Theon was grumbling as he was kept waiting. "About time…"

Turning the face him, Geralt gave a few test swings and spun the blade in his grasp in a small show of dexterity to his opponent before pacing forward into the sparring circle. "Knowing your weapon is key to every fight. Gives me an edge which you lack." He calmly informed his impatient foe.

"Smug bastard." Theon muttered as he paced around the sparring ring. Both of them faced each other, a dozen paces away while rest of the men surrounded the ring. Rodrik looked between the two before nodding to start the fight. Geralt shifted his stance as his sword arm was out to his side and blade low, seeming open toward his enemy. The Theon narrowed his gaze, unsure what Geralt was doing yet made the first move as he'd give a yell and rush in, sword raised up to strike down at the Witcher.

Yet if anything this left the young man exposed as Geralt quickly rose his blade up to parry the attack aside before shoving the Theon forward with his left shoulder, making him stagger back. He'd flow with his movements, stepping in as blunt blade hit at Theon's gut to draw a pained grunt from the man before Geralt shifted to the side. "Dead." Geralt simply stated, drawing a growl from the prideful man.

This time Theon kept his distance as he'd slash out more quickly, mixing in high and low attacks. Geralt simply focused on blocking and dodging, frustrating his enemy more. "Grah! Stand still!" The next high strike he'd raise his sword up to lock blades with Theon who struggling to overcome the Geralt's enhanced strength. Quickly Geralt twist their blades about, forcing Theon's sword down into the soft dirt before punching him right in the gut at the same spot he had striked earlier. The blow knocked the wind out of the man, leaving him stunned as Geralt stepped in with his right foot, tripping him roughly onto his back. By the time Theon struggled to get up he had a sword tip at his throat. "Dead again." Geralt remarked again with a small smirk. The gathered crowd chuckle while the young man growled in anger.

He'd bat Geralt's sword aside and hurry up onto his feet, the Witcher giving him a chance to do so. "Still trying? Keep this up and you'll have more than a bruised pride." Geralt warned.

"Not one to give up." Theon muttered with a tense grin across his face. "You fight defensively…not willing to risk open attack." He'd shift to have his sword up in a guard, a quite good one from what Geralt had seen before. Geralt move in to give a testing strike, Theon blocked and giving a quick slash to keep the Witcher back. It seemed Theon was taking this fight more seriously, not being at reckless as before. The Witcher decided to take his time, practice more dueling moves instead of the more complex attacks he often used against monsters.

For a moment Geralt debated on how to counter attack, thinking to outmaneuver him for a side or back attack. However he decided it was time to use a more unique attack to test Theon and be a show of his own skill. Putting some distant between him and Theon, he'd drift his blade low before stepping forward, raising the practice sword up and about before twisting about. The young man gave a surprised yelp as Geralt began to spin and slash about, blade whirling rapidly while a panicked Theon back stepped. Theon struggled to fend off the quick attacks as his sword clang against Geralt's spinning blade, causing the weapon being knocked out of the young man's grip. Disarmed, Theon tensed as the blunt sword spun down towards his neck, just stopping inches away. The young noble was panting from the exertion and hint of fear, sweat on his brow as he looked right at Geralt's calm face.

The crowd of men stared, shocked looks showing among the younger recruits while the older members muttered about, obviously impressed. In the end Geralt put his sword away before offering a hand to Theon, who still winded after that whirling attack. "Handled yourself pretty well." Geralt remarked he'd pull Theon up, who'd quickly dust himself off from the fall before picking up his sword.

"Thanks I guess…still never seen an attack like that." The young man muttered as he rubbed at his bruised stomach and moved out of the sparring ring. He'd move up to Jon and quickly the two began to chat with the Stark seeming to be asking many questions.

"Once saw a Dornish blades men fight spin about like that…just with spear or saber." One older soldier commented.

"Aye but Geralt's has more power behind those blows. A solid block would have a Dorn tumbling off his feet! Has more of that Northern or Stormlander ferocity to it." Another soldier remarked as the men were debating about the fight.

"By the Seven you're acting like gossiping maids!" Rodrik grumbled, making the others quiet down. "From what I heard you trained at some hidden keep right? How did they train you in fighting?" The master-at-arms questioned.

"Trained in learning multiple fighting styles from different countries and cultures. Different moves and stances are used to give us a flexible yet unpredictable. Considering it was made to fight unconventional enemies…well…you get the idea." The Witcher explained. "Had my whole life to practice and add my own personal touch to it."

"Still plan to spar a bit more?" Rodrik questioned. "I'm sure one of the veterans will really test yah."

Geralt though for a moment before nodding. "Sure…yet pair me against two or three of them." His request had Rodrik give a surprised look.

"Going three against one? I don't doubt your skills Witcher but…"

"If you're concerned, don't worry. The others seem a bit eager as well...I can handle it." Geralt reassured the old man.

Rodrik gave a shrug before looking to the group, where already a few were volunteering. Graffin grinned as he'd pick up sword while two other gruff soldiers got training swords as well. Geralt took the time to stretch a bit as the three moved to partly surround him, Graffin facing him while the two were more to the side. Looking between them all, they had focused looks as they took their fighting stances. "Try not to hold back Geralt. Hate to be disappointed." Graffin remarked as Geralt took his fighting stance. The Witcher just narrowed his gaze at Graffin who'd give a short yet before charging forward.

Geralt didn't hesitate as he step forward, blade up in a guard as he'd block the incoming attack yet twist about in a spinning slash. Graffin just dodged away yet the Witcher's move had another purpose of parrying the soldier on the right who moved in for a stab. The soldier staggered back before grunting out as Geralt striked him across the chest before reaching his sword arm behind his back to block the third soldier who tried to attack him from behind.

"How did you-" The man started before Geralt's turned fully about, sword cutting for the man's gut which the soldier blocked, yet left him open for a cracking strike from Geralt right elbow across his jaw. The Witcher didn't stand still as he'd move to the man's right side, getting the soldier in-between Graffin who was moving in closer. His practice blade flowed with his movement as he'd slice at the man's leg, the blunt blade cracking against the back of the knee and having enough force to knock the man onto his back. The soldier was out of the fight as he'd grasp at his knee in pain, no doubt the joint being cracked from the blow. With a real blade, the man would have gotten his leg lopped off easily.

"Damn you're agile!" Graffin growled as he and the other soldier moved in together, planning on attacking as one. Geralt nearly raised his left hand to make an Arad sign out of habit, yet stopping himself from using it. The two men shifted with who attacked as Graffin opened with a downward chop before stepping back to let his ally move in for a stab. Forcing Geralt onto defensive, the Witcher worked his blade about in a flurry of parries while constantly dodging and shifting about at the same time. Yet the two lost their time as they both striked at the same time, letting Geralt block both blades in a short clash. Despite the two trying to break his guard, Geralt growled out as he'd force both men back. With their defenses down, he'd step in sword up, striking at Graffin shoulder to knock him down onto one knee while at the same time his right leg swept at the last solider, tripping him onto his back. Twisting about he'd jab his blunt sword at the fallen soldier's chest, drawing a grunt of pain from him before then turn back to Graffin who soon as the sword blade at his throat.

Graffin glanced at Geralt, panting from the intense fight while the Witcher seemed hardly winded. "Gods man…You weren't joking around." He muttered before Geralt pulled the blade away and pulled the man up onto his feet. The Witcher moved to help the other soldiers up although the one he had hit in the back of the knee winced as he'd hobble on his leg.

"Ugh…could have pulled back on that last hit." He muttered as he rubbed at the injured spot.

"I was." Geralt answered calmly back, a chilling remark that had the man gulp nervously.

Rodrik chuckled while the gathered men cheered and clapped, amazed at the fight they had just seen. "Can say I've only seen a few men fight best a group as much. Ned, Robert and Jamie being prime examples." Glancing around the yard though the master-at-arms noticed Lord Stark and his wife approach the group, no doubt having watched it from one of the inner wall outlooks.

Everyone gave a small nod of respect towards the two nobles once they stopped before them. Ned look between Theon, Jon, Rodrik and then Geralt give a small smile to them. "Seems like the sparring circle is lively today. Perhaps we should make Geralt here our new Master-At-Arms."

"Ugh! A cruel jest my lord." Rodrik grumbled yet smirked back in amusement.

"The last man I fought with such skill was Artheur Dayne during the Rebellion. Never thought I see someone with equal skill." Eddard praised, making Geralt nod back in thanks. "Compliments aside, I take you've enjoyed your stay so far?"

"I have. Admittedly I'm not use to such hospitality." Geralt answered back. "Normally nobles who invite me into their homes often had a request to ask of me.

"Heh, do I seem like a man with a hidden agenda?" Ned chuckled. The Witcher just gave a shrug before the lord look to the group of men. "Need to take the Witcher off your hands for now. Besides if I left him with you all he'd have Maester Luwin busy for weeks patching you all up."

The men laughed out before Rodrik began to give orders, telling the Graffin and his companions to take a break while he'd have the younger recruits get back to drills. Eddard beckoned Geralt to walk with him, yet Jon stepped up to speak to Geralt.

"Geralt, perhaps later on you could spar with me. Show me how you have move around like you did against the others." The young man said respectfully. "Father and Rodrik has taught me much already, yet I feel you could give me a few pointers."

"Can't hurt I guess. Have a lot of free time on my hands." He answered back.

"Thank you! Will a week from today be good?"

Geralt gave a small nod, making Jon give a small smile before returning to talk to Theon over the news. The Witcher hurried to catch up with Ned who was busy talking with his wife which he could just overhear. "Cat, how about you go check up with the girls. Make sure Arya isn't fooling around during her studies."

"I suppose…yet are you sure its fine to be alone with that man?" Caitlyn muttered back.

"Of course. You need to relax Caitlyn. Scars and eyes aside, he's no different than any man I've known. Luwin has already vouched for him as well and you see how the others respect him.

"I just know he's hiding something. I keep thinking over his story…he's not sharing everything-"

"Which is what I plan to figure out. Trust me Cat." Ned gave a soft kiss to her lips, making her give a sigh as she decided to drop the subject along with realizing Geralt was nearing them. Giving a small hug, she'd move off to the Great Keep, leave Ned with the Witcher.

"Quite the caring wife you have." Geralt remarked as he'd walk along aside Ned as the lord led the way towards the north western part of the yard.

"Indeed. Our marriage was arranged yet we've grown to love each other early after our vows." Eddard explained. "She's protective and may seem judgmental, yet I value her options deeply."

"So why does she distrust me so much?"

Ned shrugged. "Maybe it's appearance. The scars may not faze me or the other men to her it's a sign of danger. After seeing the way, you fight it's obvious that fighting is your way of life…and she's a woman who detests people dedicated to conflict."

"My profession isn't like that." Geralt calmly stated.

"You've kept that quite vague really. You claim to be a hunter yet I've never heard of a man who chases wolves and bears with a long sword. It's impractical…unless your prey are men."

"Not a bounty hunter if that's what you're suggesting."

"Of course not." The two arrived at portcullis gate set between the Guest House and Library Tower. Already the guards were raising it to reveal a lush forest set beyond them, which Geralt realize was the Godswood he had heard about. "Yet I feel you will tell me in the end." With that said, he'd lead the way into the private woods, Geralt following along.

…

The Godswood was a beautiful sight, almost feeling like they had left Winterfell completely and into the heart of the northern woods. For a moment Geralt a silent along with Ned, listening to the lively birds and animals that roamed the large walled forest. After a long while, the two soon arrived at a big grove with a tanquil pond at its center. Beside the water was a towering, thick white barked tree with blood red leaves adorning it's hanging branches. At its base there was a plain face craved at it, a strange addition considering. Ned would soon stop beside the pool, his gaze set on the Weirtree.

"Have you read about our land's faiths? About the Old Gods and the New?" He questioned the Witcher.

"A bit. Religion isn't a topic I look into during my studies." Geralt answered back. "Still the Old Gods I know is Westeros's oldest beliefs. A simple faith compared to most."

"The Faith of the Seven is more favored in these times. Still, the North follows the old beliefs." Ned remarked with a small nod. "I don't know if the Gods are real or not…yet I can't deny that fate plays oddly with our lives." Pausing, he'd look to Geralt before continuing. "I can tell that there is something special about you. It isn't a feeling I can simply explain…a gut instinct if I had to put it simply."

"It's a sense I can say I've relied on and one we can often trust." Geralt muttered back.

Ned nodded in agreement. "I know you have reasons to keep secrets from us. A man has a right to share only what he wishes so long as others are not harmed by silence. I think your silence though only hurts yourself."

Geralt was silent, quietly agreeing that Ned had a point on the matter. "Perhaps…yet I bet you'd think I'm crazy if I told you everything."

Ned chuckled as he'd move to sit by the Weirtree while Geralt followed and sat on a smooth rock set nearby. "There is no else here to judge or doubt you, just me and the woods. I'm a patient man Geralt and we have plenty of day light left."

Geralt sighed as he scratched the scruff on his chin. If anything this reminded him of the time Vernon Roach interrogated him…although that had been in a dank dungeon with him falsely claimed as a king slayer. "Fine then…may as well get it off my chest." He muttered. "I'm not from some obscure land across the ocean, but from whole other world…"

….

Hours passed as Geralt shared every detail with Eddard. The full story and purpose of the Witchers, the shortened details on the political conflict back home and the twisted fate his life had been over the last few years. He spoke about the monsters, magic, elves and dwarves that mixed among the lives of humans. Then at last he shared the prophecy of his world's end and the fate Ciri had in saving it. Despite how fantastical it was, Ned kept such a calm look as if trying to see a hint of deceit from Geralt, yet the Witcher kept that set look during his long story.

"Wild Hunt…White Frost…Elder Blood." Ned shook his head slightly. "I feel you're in the wrong profession Geralt. You'd be famous a writer of fiction."

"Doubting everything I've shared?" Geralt questioned calmly.

"A few bits. Maybe you are exaggerating on some aspects yet I see no reason why you'd lie about such a detailed world like your own." Ned clarified.

"Better then you ordering the guards to cart me off to a padded cell." Geralt said with a small smirk.

"I'm more doubtful about your claims of magic though. In earlier years many believed the alchemists to be mages who could burn the flesh of their enemies or meddle the minds of honest men. Of course it turned out to be nothing more than mixtures and trickery." Ned questioned.

"It's real for sure. Just my existence to because of magic, it's what made me a Witcher." Geralt replied.

"Actions speak louder than words." Ned countered, drawing a sigh from Geralt.

"Is better not land me on a burning stake." He grumbled as he'd stand up, facing towards the small pond. With his left hand, he'd make the Arad sign and push his hand forward as a strong burst of telekinetic energy surged forward in an arc, enough to make the leaves of the Weirwood rustle and the water of the pond to splash about in a short wave. Glancing back at Ned, the lord had calm look yet his eyes showed the shock and confusion at what he had just saw. Geralt would simply sit down, staring at Ned as he waited for a reaction.

"Just...how did you do that?" Eddard muttered, fascinated yet tense after what he saw.

"A Sign, one of five. Its basic magic really that all Witchers know. A sorceress or mage can do far more such as heal the injured, conjure the elements, place curses and much more." The Witcher explained before looking at his left hand. "Yet here my Signs are becoming weaker. Not sure why just yet, just have theories." Pausing, he'd look back at Ned who seemed to have calm down slightly. "I trust you'll keep this between us."

"I doubt anyone would be believe me if I did." Ned remarked with a small chuckle. "If anything I was expecting a more flashy display." Rubbing his hands together slightly, he'd take a deep breath. "You've been good a keeping such abilities hidden, so I'm glad you trusted me with such knowledge."

Geralt nodded thankfully, surprised that Ned handled the news quite well, even if he seemed shaken from the reveal. "So what next?"

Ned was silent as he'd think for a moment before speaking. "There is one aspect to your tale that does greatly interest. This White Frost…this prophecy you described. It's almost exactly like the tales of the Long Night…at least in the outcome."

"Did read about that. The war between the First Men and Children against the White Walkers. From my understanding that war is how your family came to rule the North."

"Aye…my father and my father's father and beyond that shared the original tale. Sort of a tradition to make sure we never forget it." He'd pause, staring at the calm pond and at the orange life gleaming from the low sunlight peeking through the red leaves above him. "I doubt our ancestors build the Wall to keep a horde of wild men from ravaging the Kingdoms…no it was for something more and lately the reports the Night's Watch have shared concern me."

"What do you mean?" Geralt questioned.

Ned shook his head and gave a sigh. "I can't say for certain…not yet." Again he paused, glancing back at Geralt. "Yet our legend matches closely to your prophecy. The end of our world at the hands of an endless winter. But what does this Ciri have to do with it all, having this Elder Blood as you mentioned?"

"Ciri is descended from an ancient bloodline with a powerful connect to magic, unmatched by anyone in my world. It gives her the power to move freely between time and space...yet from what I've seen do possibly far more." Geralt answered back. "As for what she was to do to stop the Frost...I don't know. The prophecy says nothing, only that one of Elder Blood can stop it."

"Yet from what you said she did go to confront it? Did she stop it?"

Geralt was silent for a long moment, looking down as he questioned that as well. "I don't know. Maybe she did but is trapped…could be dead as well…or she failed…"

"Don't let such doubts fill your head Geralt. Nothing is certain just yet." Ned quickly interrupted, seeing the creeping despair that just hinted the Witcher's eyes.

The Witcher sighed and nodded before looking back up at Ned. "Bloodline aside, she has a duty back home."

"Becoming Empress of the largest empire as you hinted." Ned remarked. "This Nilfgaard sounds like it rival the Seven Kingdoms in size and power."

"With the Northern Kingdoms in their hands it will surpass it." Geralt stated. "That aside though I guess I'd better get to the point…is there anything you can do to help me find her?"

"I can inform my men and the other holds of the North to keep an eye out for this woman. However there is a lot of open wilds in the North…and we've can't exclude that she is beyond the Wall." Ned answered back.

"Can't the Night's Watch go beyond and look for her?" Although even he realized how desperate that was. If the known maps were correct the lands beyond the Wall were vast and harsh along with filled with Wildlings…possibly even worst things as well.

"I can't force them to do anything. Only King Robert has such authority." Ned quickly explained. "Even then the Night's Watch is a shadow of what it was in the past. Its numbers are barely a thousand and most are criminals or the desperate. In the past it was an honor to join the Watch, not a punishment or escape for one's crimes."

"Alright…dwindling choices. Maybe I should go off on my own then." Geralt suggested.

"Geralt, while I know you're a capable man that would be suicide. Only the most skilled rangers have gone far into the lands beyond the wall. Few ever made it back and most have been the North's greatest trackers and hunters." Ned warned.

"I'm no ordinary hunter though." Geralt simply stated.

"Yes, but running off blindly isn't going to help." Thinking, Ned continued to speak. "Robert could help. He's a good man and I'm certain the news about the Wildlings will give you some favor with him. With his influence he could get you an experienced group of men, organize the Night's Watch, fund supplies and more."

"I'd rather not get involved in politics. The last time I did it ended badly." Geralt remarked back.

"Sadly just staying with us gets you involved. Lately times have been…tense between us and the Lannisters, a southern House that helped the Rebellion succeed towards the very end of the war." From Ned's tone he sounded a bit bitter on the matter, the first time Geralt had seen the man in such a way.

"From my understanding the Lannister's helped you take King's Landing though some questionable means." Geralt answered back, having read up deeply on the Rebellion.

"They've been grabbing for power ever since, be it through Tywin or his daughter Cersei who is the queen. I'm worried that they have plans that will endanger the Kingdoms and Robert." Eddard explained.

"Huh…Tywin…" Oddly just the descriptions of the man from the books he had read and stories he had heard sounded familiar to one overly-controlling emperor. He did remember Triss and Yen mentioning dimensional theory once, about how other could worlds had relatable events or people within them. Of course, that was just a theory.

"They've been keeping a close eye on us since we're one of their strongest rivals among the Kingdoms. They no doubt have informants who will note your arrival. What they will make of it I can't be certain." Ned rubbed at his chin, sighing a bit in frustration. "I'll confess Geralt, courtly intrigue isn't something I favor. I prefer facing such problems directly not through scheming."

The Witcher nodded in agreement on the matter. "Yet here you are discussing it. Rather you get to the point Lord Stark." His tone was a bit more annoyed, almost rude considering.

Still, Ned couldn't help but smirk at Geralt's directness. "The Hand of the King is dying…maybe even dead already. Maybe it is age, sickness or poison. Point is Robert and the Lannisters are touring the Kingdoms and will be arriving here within a month. I know Robert…he's going to ask me to be his new Hand."

Already Geralt was thinking, realizing what Ned was hinting at. "You want me to help you somehow and in return you'll help me find Ciri?" The Witcher questioned.

Eddard nodded. "As the Hand I have access to the Kingdom informants, connections to resources and the best men Westeros can offer. Everything you'd need to scour beyond the Wall."

"Lord Stark…Why share such details with me? You've known me for a bit over a week yet I feel this is information you should be sharing with Luwin or Rodrik." Geralt remarked back.

"I have informed them of my thoughts and they have shared their advice. Yet you are an outsider entirely from Westeros, you have no true connections of affiliations yet a vast experience dealing with nobility and politics." Ned countered back. "In these times, I feel outsider;s opinion, such as yours, be worthwhile to hear."

"The Witcher's code doesn't-" Geralt started before Ned again spoke up.

"That is a weak excuse Geralt. After everything you've told me, you've let your morals and sense of right decide on when to be involved or not." Pausing, he'd continued "I'm not asking you to do this for my House's benefit. I'm not doing this for selfish gains like the lords and kings you've met before, this is about ensuring peace among the realm and keeping an old friend safe."

"My lord, even the best of intentions have consequences. I've seen it time after time. Always it leads to innocent people dying and renewed conflict." Geralt tried to argue back.

"I understand the risks. I'm not planning to war with the Lannisters or make a grab for the Iron Throne. I want none of that." Pausing, he'd tap one hand against his knee in thought. "I don't plan to rush into this, yet I feel your skills would be useful if trouble is to come. You don't have to swear or promise everything, just consider my request." Ned shifted to stand up and paced past Geralt, placing a strong hand on Geralt's shoulder. "You're an honest man Geralt. I swear everything you've shared with me will be just between us."

The Witcher was silent before nodding. "Thank you. Expect the same from me on what you've discussed."

Ned nodded before moving away, letting Geralt get up and follow the Northern Lord back through the Godswoods and back to the court yard as the evening creeped in, the low sun casting a beautiful light across all of Winterfell.

…

By now the men and workers were finishing up their duties for the day, showing just how long the two had been talking within the walled forest. Across the yard by the Great Hall gates, the rest of the Stark family were gathering up for dinner, Arya seeing her father started waving towards him. Ned waved back before looking to Geralt. "Plan to join the household for dinner? You've been staying up in that room for too long after all, so why don't you stay around." The Lord offered.

"That is kind of you yet I should get back to my research." Geralt remarked in an excuse.

"Geralt…one dinner isn't going to decide the fate of the world if that is what you're worried about. " Ned chuckled. "Enjoy the hospitality we offer. You deserve it after all you've been through." With that he'd move to greet his family, hugging his younger children and wife while chatting with his sons.

The Witcher watched, conflicted after his lengthy conversation with Lord Stark. He couldn't deny the respect Eddard had shown, accepting him despite his Witcher nature or even knowing about the magic he had. Even the most open minded lords back home judged him on these aspects, yet Ned judged him on character and personal interaction. He was hesitant to get mixed into the lived of this decent family, having a deep feeling that their lives face a dark turn.

Already he debated on what to do…could just run off…avoid the possible conflict he may face. Yet in the end Ned was right, he needed help if he was going to find Ciri, braving the world alone would just have him wander aimlessly or maybe even get himself killed.

"Damn it…" Geralt muttered, again looking to the family as they seemed ready to go into the Great Hall. Jon and Robb glanced over at him, curious if he come along. Arya was waving, calling out to him. "Come on Geralt!"

In the end, the Witcher sighed before moving across the yard, following the Starks into the Great Hall for dinner. For one of the few times in his difficult life, he'd laugh and share tales with younger Starks and the boisterous household. For once in many years he felt truly accepted…an odd feeling truly to him.

… **.**


	5. S1-E4: At the House of Wolves Part 3

**Chapter 4: At the House of Wolves Part 3**

Nearly another week had passed since Geralt had his private conversation with Eddard Stark, sharing the full truth about how he ended up in Westeros and about Ciri. The Witcher had split his time between reading what he could at the Library Tower yet also taking part at the sparring ring more often. More often he'd train the recruits on the basics of sword fighting or spar with one of the more experienced men who wanted to test himself. So far, no one had been able to get so much as a light blow against him. Theon had even asked for a rematch which he politely refused despite the Iron Islander's bluster. Yet today was special since it was time to meet with Jon Snow and follow up on his promise to do some training with young man.

It was another clear and sunny day in Winterfell as Geralt walked outside into the yard. Today the soldiers weren't training since recently Eddard had asked for them to go out to patrol the roads of the North along with spread a message to look for a silver haired woman with a scar across her face. Geralt hadn't expected such action from the Northern lord, yet it was a good gesture of faith in the end. Putting those thoughts aside, his attention focused on Jon who was busy practicing against a one of the training dummies. For a moment Geralt stood back to watch Jon, the young man having good foot work with the way he moved and attacked. He favored a strong two hand style yet knew when to swing with one hand. If anything the almost fought like a Witcher, just lacking the spins and twisting moves that Geralt often used.

"Not too bad…yet real foes don't just stand still and take hits." Geralt spoke up, getting Jon's attention.

The Stark bastard chuckled, brushing his black curly hair back as he'd turn to face the Witcher. "True enough. Still, never hurts to test the basics right?" Jon countered back.

Geralt shrugged as he'd move over to the nearby weapon rack, picking out a fitting practice sword for himself. "That's what I've been doing every sparring day so far." The Witcher calmly stated as he'd face Jon again who paced towards the sparring ring.

"Really now? You're telling me your holding back against everyone you've fought here?" Jon questioned, chuckling in disbelieve at the claim.

Geralt kept that calm look, yet a small smirk did hint his lips. "Considering the people and creatures I've fought…yes. If I was serious they'd have more than cracked bones and bruises." Shifting his stance, he'd grasp his sword with both hands as he stared right at Jon with his piercing yellow eyes. "So are we going to chat or begin?"

Jon paused as he thought over the Witcher's answer before taking his own fighting stand which nearly mirrored Geralt's. "Then don't hold back against me." The Stark said, tone dead serious and gaze having an intense focus.

For a moment neither moved and if anything their inaction had the few onlookers mutter in confusion. In the end Geralt lunged in, swinging downward with his blade while Jon stepped, his sword up to block it. Blades clashed yet the two moved as they back stepped then circled about only to move in for another attack. The two continued to move and strike about, never overextending themselves or going too far on the defensive. Geralt had to admit Jon knew how to avoid a parry, going for controlled attacks and avoiding a straight on attack. It showed that he had been studying the Witcher closely after the last few days of sparring. If anything it was impressive how prepared Jon was for this fight.

Yet at one point both rushed each other, both blades locking in a clash as the two struggled against each other. Geralt was stronger than most men yet Jon had changed his footing to brace himself, remembering how the Witcher overpowered others during such sword locks. In the end both of them backed off, pausing for a moment to catch their breath.

"Impressive. Seems like you already learned a lot from just watching me." Geralt remarked as his stance relaxed now.

Jon nodded, panting a bit since Geralt's strength and speed had pushed the young man quite hard to match up. "Did notice how nothing else was working with the others. They all tried a deep approach yet never thought to adapt." Jon explained as he'd get some water from a waterskin nearby. "Was hoping to just get a hit in, yet at best I'm just keeping you from beating me down."

"A good start if any." Geralt remarked back with a nod before moving up to get a drink of water as well.

"After all, I need to be at my best if I plan to serve at the Night's Watch." Jon added, making Geralt give a surprised look to the young man.

"Join the Night's Watch, why would you do that?" The Witcher questioned. "From what I know the Watch isn't what it used to be ever since they gave the choice for criminals to join their ranks just to escape jail or execution."

Jon gaze a side glance away, nodding a bit. "I've heard of that…try to think it's not as bad as it sounds. Just rumors and such. Uncle Benjen has visited a few times, told me about the honor and duty with taking the oath and wearing the Black." Yet for the Witcher, he felt the young man was trying to excuse that little detail.

"Didn't know Ned had another brother." Geralt remarked, Jon nodding in response.

"Benjen often kept to himself. I don't know why he decided to serve with the Watch. Maybe just a sense to duty or personal choice." Jon shrugged and sighed. "Besides I feel I have no other choice. Winterfell is my home yet…there is much for me here."

"Right…I forget…" Being a bastard still carried the same rules and sigma here just like in his world. Still Jon was lucky to have a good family and half-brothers. If anything Robb and Jon had a natural affinity that even the truest of siblings lacked. "I get your reasons. Still, you're fine giving up the freedom to…well…start a family of your own?"

Jon gave a small shrug yet a shy look hinted in his eyes. "I…ehh…never really thought about that." He muttered, shifting a bit. "Just been having other things on my mind."

Geralt gave a questioning look and crossed his arms. "Really? The dashing son of the noble Lord Eddard never notice a maiden or two wooing for his attention?" The Witcher jested.

"A bastard." Jon grumbled, as if that was excuse.

"Bastard or not, I know plenty of women who fawn for a young man like you. Trust me, a life of celibacy isn't worth it. You should at least know the comfort of a loving woman at least." Geralt's bluntness had Jon blush lightly.

"Just been focused on other matters." Jon remarked as he'd put his practice sword away. "Yet what about you? You don't exactly look like the man who'd settle down with any normal woman."

Geralt was silent when the young man question, making Jon give an odd look after a moment. The Witcher realized he hadn't thought about Yen since leaving her back at the tower so many weeks ago. Maybe he was used to the fact that she could handle anything by herself, being one of the world's more powerful sorceress's. Yet he felt that uncertainty about what was happening back in his world…if it was suffering a second Conjunction or the White Frost, whatever it was, was destroying it. For all he knew she was no doubt trying to find him, all the while cursing at his rashness. That thought alone brought a small hint of a smile to his lips.

Jon spoke up again, snapping Geralt out of his thoughts. "Ah sorry…I realize that is a personal question to ask."

Geralt shook his head. "It's fine. Been asked worse questions." He'd pause for a moment before continuing. "Still I don't feel like discussing about my companions. Something for another day."

"Umm…anyway don't you plan to go to the Wall? Talk to the Lord Commander and try to organize some search for Ciri." Jon asked, changing back to the original topic.

For a moment Geralt thought, thinking over his talk with Ned and all the stories the people of the keep said about the harsh land beyond the wall. "Maybe...been debating considering the trip that far North would be a nearly a week's worth. Rather not be running all across the continent and getting nothing done." He answered back. "Your father said King Robert could help me, get me the aid I need to search the North. King's Landing maybe where I end up."

"Seems like you'll have to make a choice in the end." Jon remarked, making Geralt nod in agreement.

"At the least, I'll decide by the end of the King's visit." Geralt explained. "For now all I can do is study as much as I can about the Wall and beyond it. First rule of a Witcher is to always be prepared and if nothing works out with the Watch or the King…may just have to go out alone."

"You know that is suicidal." Jon warned, much like his father had with how he spoke.

"Heh…you have no idea how many times people have said that to me." Geralt remarked with a small chuckle as he'd pace around the sparring ring. "Again, just my last option."

Jon seemed troubled with the matter yet didn't argue any more with the Witcher. "Anyway I should return to more chores and other duties." He muttered as he'd glance towards the Great Keep. "Again, thank you for the spar and talking with me. You've given me a lot to think about."

The two firmly shook hands before Jon hurried off for the keep, leaving Geralt alone for now. He'd move for the Guest House yet paused when he saw someone by the shooting range, the young Bran who had been watching the whole fight.

"Spying are you?" Geralt jested as the boy stepped out of hiding, giving a small shrug and small smile back. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Brann one on one, often only chatting with him during the few dinners he had shared with the family. The boy seemed happy and active like his older brother, yet every time he encountered the child, his medallion just slightly hummed. Even after a few weeks of study and talking with the Stark family, he found no real clues on why.

"Wanted to see you fight Jon. Was much more interesting than all the past fights since Jon didn't get beaten." The young Stark commented. "Do you think he could beat you? I mean Robb and dad are good from what I know…yet Jon seems to be getting better the Robb."

"Haven't see your other brother fight yet but…I think give Jon a few more years and he may just." The Witcher answered back. "If anything he would have been a fitting Witcher. Has the right traits and skills to be one."

"Really!" Bran remarked in an excited manner, making Geralt nod back. "So I was thinking could you train me? I'm still only using wooden swords and dad has me learning the bow…yet I always have trouble pulling the string back and mess up with my aim. Maybe you know a trick you could share?"

"Heh…admittedly bows was someone a Witcher didn't learn. Yet I started using a crossbow for a good while." Geralt answered back as he'd glance down the archery range. "Give me a moment."

Bran nodded as Geralt hurried to the Guest House, going through his packed gear to pick out his Feline School crossbow. The weapon was finely crafted, made hardened wood along with being reinforced with monster bone and hair. While it was a small crossbow, he had shot down plenty of harpies and gryphons with the compact weapon. Gathering up his bolts, he'd return to Brann who gave a curious look at the crossbow.

"I remember seeing that one your back when you first arrived. I didn't know you could afford a crossbow." The young Stark remarked.

"Custom made and of Witcher design. Not a big as a normal crossbow, but useful for drawing out in the middle of a fight, plus easy to reload…well for me at least." Geralt explained, as he let Brann examine the unloaded weapon. Considering his young age, he could two hand the weapon easy like a normal sized crossbow.

"Could you show me how it works?" Brann asked with a hopeful look.

"Alright, just follow my directions carefully." Geralt answered back with a small nod.

The Witcher would spend a good while showing the boy how the crossbow worked, from how to load it and properly holding it. He'd take a few shots both one hand and with both, using his honed skill and senses to land perfect shots. When it was Brann's turn, Geralt had the boy take his time aiming down the weapon and how to hold his breath to get a steady shot. He'd hit the targets at the least and after a few more shots started getting closer to the center.

"Much easier than a bow." Bran remarked as he handed Geralt back the crossbow along with the bolts.

"Crossbow makes it easier to aim without having to worry about bow draw and the like. Issue is it's slowly then a bow and can lack its range in certain situations. Plus more costly to make and fix." Geralt explained to Bran. "Still it seems suitable for you."

Bran nodded in agreement. "Still could you show me how to use a sword like you? I mean…not sparring like the others, just more of pointers on what to do." He then asked a bit nervously.

"Huh…haven't trained anyone as young like you since Ciri." Geralt muttered, thinking for a moment while Bran gave a small pleading look. "Fine, but I expect full effort on your part."

Bran nodded quickly, happy with the answer. "Promise." He answered back, making Geralt him a small smile. "Anyway I guess I should get back to studying before mother complains." The boy gave a small wave before hurrying off to the Great Keep.

Geralt started having second thoughts on the agreement, wondering if Catlyn approve of him training the boy. Yet he guessed he'd deal with that later as he'd head back to the Guest House and continue his researching.

…

The days went by as Geralt would start sparring against Jon, Robb and Theon. Robb proved to be just as good as Jon, matching up to his half-brother's skill. Theon improved as well yet his overconfidence and hotheadedness held him back. Yet he pressed them every time and even showed them how to fight as a group as he even had them fight 3 on 1 against him. Their fight had drawn a large crowd as Geralt put on a bigger show of his acrobatic sword fighting skill. He'd duck, leap, roll and slide to avoid their attacks. The surprised looks showed how people doubted someone like him could move in such a way, yet that is what gave him an edge.

By the time their latest fight ended, all three were gasping for breath while Geralt seemed only winded. At the least they had avoided being bruised by the blunt training sword, having taken a good effort to dodge and block properly.

"Gods Geralt…" Robb muttered as he'd stand up straight after catching his breath. "Can't deny that you've shown us a new meaning to sword fighting, yet I doubt we'll met anyone that can move like you."

The Witcher smirked as he'd put his training sword away and get the waterskin and wooden mugs for them all. "Then that means when you fight anyone else you should best them then." He remarked.

"A good point there." Theon laughed as he'd drank a long drink from his mug.

"Maybe father should duel you next?" Jon jested, making everyone look to the looming wall walkway where Ned and Catelyn stood by, having watched the fight.

The northern lord laughed at the remark and his wife seeming a bit amused as well. "It be an interesting fight for sure, yet I feel I lack practice to handle someone like the Witcher." Ned remarked back. However, before he could say anything more Rodrik would approach Ned and quickly mutter something to him. The Northern lord's expression hardened to a more serious expression before he spoke to his wife, then glanced over towards his sons, mainly Bran who had been watching among the crowd. In then end she seemed to reluctantly agree before Eddard spoke up.

"Everyone…we have a troubling matter that has some to my attention. A Night's Watch ranger has been caught for desertion. This is a matter a must deal with personally and immediately." Staring at his sons, he'd give a small nod. "I want all of your to get your cloaks and horses ready. This is a matter you should all witness." The way Ned spoke was the first stoic show of command Geralt had seen. None of his sons objected as they quickly went about to get ready. Yet as Geralt moved to leave Ned spoke up again. "Not so fast friend. I feel you should come with us."

"How come? I already have a feeling of what is going to happen." Geralt questioned back.

"It's more of what the Ranger has to say. The guards who arrested him mentioned him babbling of…the corpses of the dead haunting the woods and a shade of some kind." Ned remarked back, yet Geralt had a seriousness about him. "Besides the Ranger has been beyond the Wall. He could have some news of recent events…details that can help you."

At that point Geralt nodded, understanding Ned's meaning. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." With that he was already heading for his room, gathering all his swords and other gear before returning to the courtyard. By then Ned and his sons were already on their horses, while one of the stable hands brought one out for the Witcher. Mounting up, Ned looked over the group before leading the way.

…

They ride through the grassy hills that surrounded Winterfell, passing through a short patch of woods until they arrived at a rocky hilly were a small group of mounted guards and a man in dark leathers stood waiting. If anything the stones set around reminded Geralt of a ritual site.

The Winterfell party arrived at the group and dismounted, Ned taking the lead while his sons hanged back, standing by the edge of the rough stone circle that crowned the hilltop. Eddard nodded for Geralt to follow him while two guards pulled the young man forward, who didn't resist, only muttering in a low voice. He was slim and dirtied, having traveled far for a long while by the looks of 'd stop before a flat stone which an arched piece of wood set by it...an execution block. The Northern lord was silent as the Night's Watchman looked at him then at Geralt who he recoiled at for a moment when seeing the pale hair and yellow eyes.

"N-No…not them…you're not them." The man muttered to Geralt, glancing away to avoid the Witcher's calm cat like eyes.

Ned remained silent, a sign for Geralt to question the man. "You're name is Will right, a Ranger of the Night's Watch? You were scouting beyond the Wall yes?" The Witcher asked in a calm manner.

The ranger just nodded, still tense from Geralt's appearance. "Yes. Was with two others…a friend and a new member. Weeks ago we had odd reports…a strange storm happening and sightings in the woods. We thought wildlings…" Yet he'd shudder.

"What did you find?" Geralt questioned.

"Bodies. Wildlings. Men, woman and children. They were…cut up in a circle…some ritual. There was a girl…impaled to a tree" He'd bite back a sob. "I called my Brothers to see it while they sent me out to scout the area...I heard screams and…and…" By now he was shaking, breathing deeply as he seemed in a panic.

Geralt knew at this rate he'd lose focus, start struggling or being hysterical. His right hand flex and twist as he'd discretely make the Axii Sign, as possible to avoid Sign being used as a soothing color showed in Will's eyes as he'd give a relaxed sigh. Ned seemed to notice this, giving a curious short look at Geralt who continued to speak.

"What happened next?"

Will took a moment before speaking, his voice more clear now. "I heard the others scream and saw the horses run off. Then I heard a noise and the girl…she was there…dried blood and eyes dead." He'd pause before shaking his head "No eyes icy blue. She moved and looked at me…I ran." Again he'd be silent. "Found Gared. He was a good friend and Ranger. Then something big…came up behind him. Cut his head off."

"What killed him?" Geralt pressed.

"Skin was pale and wrinkled…face gaunt like a corpse…eyes the same piercing blue. It was a White Walker." He'd look to Geralt and then Ned. "I know I should have gone back to the Wall. Warned my Brothers. I couldn't…was too scared…too much of a coward." He'd shake his head. "Yet I know what I saw!"

Geralt was silent, looking between Ned and the Ranger. "Did you see a white haired woman with a scar across one eye?" He'd suddenly ask, drawing a confused look from Will.

"N-No…didn't see such a woman…even among the bodies." The Ranger muttered before looking to Ned. "I know what I did was wrong. I accept that I deserted…I broke the oath and accept the price of it."

At this point Ned nodded and then glanced at Geralt, making the Witcher move away as one of the men moved up with a large fur covered sheathed blade. The size was massive, being a great sword at least. What interested Geralt was how his medallion vibrated lightly with the weapon close, making him watch intently. Ned grasped the large hilt and drew the blade out, the blade metal being a smoky dark unlike any metal the Witcher had seen. The massive blade was perfectly sharp yet showed no signs sharpening by whetstone.

Ned hefted the blade with ease despite the size, either of hint of his strength to betraying a lightness to the great sword. Soon he'd begin to speak, a long oath about the man's crime and punishment, all while having a somber yet steadfast look. "Do you have any last words Will?" Ned calmly asked.

"Tell my family. Don't lie…let them know of my mistake." He'd bow his head although the guards already pressed him to the block. "Yet believe what I saw my Lord. They exist…"

Ned was silent, hesitant for a long moment in thought. Geralt glanced back to the watching sons, Jon whispering to Bran who stared intently. In the end though, Ned tightened the grip of his sword before with a grunt, he'd lift the blade up and then down, decapitating the Ranger cleanly with one powerful swing. Eddard gave a deep sigh as he watched the head drop down and blood flow from the severed neck. He'd get a block to wipe the blood off his blade before the guard with the sheath stepped forward to let the blade be slid back in.

"And so much duty is complete." Ned muttered before turning to his sons. "Let this be a moment you all remember. Follow the oaths you make, just ones that you decide."

The Stark sons nodded, Bran hesitant in his before Ned moved back for his horse. Everyone followed, whispering to each other as they'd mount up. Geralt pulled himself onto his horse yet moved beside Eddard to speak privately.

"He wasn't lying." He simply stated.

"Do you believe so?" Ned said in a low voice.

"May have been fearful, yet it wasn't what he said, just the memory. Axii Sign helped ease the truth." He explained to Ned.

"One of your tricks? I did see the gesture you made."

"Helped calm him. Be more focused. Point is everything he said was what he saw." Geralt remarked.

"There has to be a logical reason Geralt. The man babbled about a myth."

"Where I come from, myths often are true to a degree. Besides he mentioned a storm a few weeks ago…close to the same time I arrived." Geralt argued back.

Ned gripped his reins and looked away from Geralt. "I won't rush into any decision on the matter." The lord guided his horse along, leaving Geralt behind before the Witcher rode out as well. Jon and Robb gave questioning looks as they rod close by yet said nothing as the group headed back for Winterfell.

…

The group would return home by the main road to return back to Winterfell. Everyone was silent the whole right, Ned keeping a stern look during the whole time, ignoring Geralt when he rode up close and seemed ready to talk. Yet Ned slow down as he'd see something ahead, making the Witcher focus his gaze ahead to see what it was.

"Dead elk." He simply stated, using his sharp vision to confirm.

The group came to a stop and dismounted, yet Geralt was the first to move close to the dead beast. It was easy for him to tell that the elf had been killed at least half was week, considering the decay. "Broken horn…split belly…hide seems to have been bitten and torn into." He muttered, a usual habit he when investigating. His sharp gaze scanned the road, noting the hoof prints of the elf but then saw very law paw prints. "Wolf…biggest one I've ever seen. Size of the elk even." By this point the others were looking at the elk, along with overhearing Geralt's mutterings curiously. The Witcher continued to pace around the area, sharp eyes finding every detail.

"Wolf chase it here, then surprised it. Bite right into the under belly and knocked it over. Started to disembowel yet dropped guard as elk thrashed about. One set of antlers struck, possibly at the face or neck region." He'd pace towards the side of the road, nearing a slope by a creek and bridge that crossed over it. Quickly he saw the wolf itself, a massive creature as he suspected. Yet what really got his attention was the small canine forms huddling at the wolf, suckling at its underbelly and giving low whimpers. The bigger wolf was decaying as well, face already having maggots eating away at it.

The group followed, amazed looks at the massive creature while Geralt moved to the wolf pups who scampered around yet didn't try to escape him. Even for ones so younger they were much larger than normal wolf pups.

"It's a freak." Theon suddenly remarked, making Geralt and Ned glance back with an annoyed look, silencing the young man.

"It's a dire wolf." Eddard muttered as he'd reach to grab the snapped antler, yanking it out with a sickening sound before tossing it aside. "A rare beast."

"Had such creatures back home, yet they were hunted to extinction or at least roamed into the deeper north." Geralt remarked.

Robb nodded. "Aye…there are no dire wolves south of the Wall. Makes you wonder how this one got here."

"Well there is five here now." Jon remarked as he'd move to pick up one of the pups, the gray furred creature whining cutely before Jon looked to Bran. "Want to hold it?"

Bran nodded as he'd take the pup, wrapping it up in his cloak to warm it and cuddle the soft fur. "Where will they go? Their mother is dead." The young Stark asked softly.

Geralt could see the Northern men glance aside, hinting at what they were thinking. In the end Ned spoke up quickly. "They won't last without their mother. It be best to give them a quick death."

"Right then!" Theon was quick to react, getting his dagger out and grabbing for Bran's pup, who whined out in fear. Yet Geralt was quick to intervine, a strong arm shoving Theon back. "Cut out it out." He growled, making the Iron Islander pale slightly. "Thought I taught you some self-control after all these weeks."

"He's right Theon, put the bloody knife away." Robb remarked in agreement, making Theon look about with a torn look.

"Please father!' Bran pleaded as Ned moved past them for the road, making him pause to look at his son, a mournful look showing in his eyes.

"Lord Stark." Jon spoke up, making everyone look to him. "There are five pups, one for each of your children. The dire wolf is your house sigil. We were meant to have them."

Geralt didn't expect such a formal remark from Jon, since privately he spoke of Ned as just his father. Perhaps the formality was meant to calm and reason with the troubled lord. "He makes a good point Lord Eddard." The Witcher remarked. "Their young enough to be trained and should grow up quickly. Give a month or so they'll be big as a hound, easier to manage."

Everyone looked at Ned, he thought for a moment before speaking. "You'll train them yourselves. Fed them yourselves. And if they die you'll bury them yourself." The last few words had a sternness to them yet Geralt understood the man was putting the gravity of this responsibility to his family.

Everyone nodded as Ned marched back for the road, while Jon began collecting the pups, handing them off to Robb and Theon to be carried back. Yet Bran paused, looking at Jon before speaking up.

"What about you?" He asked.

"I'm not a true Stark…just go on now." The bastard muttered, shooing Bran who'd follow Robb to the road.

Geralt took a moment to walk up to Jon and speak privately with him. "A good thing you've done." He assured the young man, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Your family will care and raise them well. They'll be good protectors for your siblings."

Jon just nodded, remaining silently as he'd slip by the Witcher, yet stop as he heard some low whines at the nearby tree. The young man crouched to find a white furred pup, the smallest one of the group as he'd pick it up to examine it.

"Looks like the runt of the litter." Geralt remarked. "Seems you'll have your own wolf in the end."

"Guess fate works in strange ways." Jon chuckled, mood softening as he'd hold the pup closely. He'd give a thankful nod to the Witcher before going to rejoin his family, leaving Geralt to himself.

"Fate…not sure if I should curse it or thank it." He'd mutter before his sharp ears heard the crack of a twig in the woods. By reaction his hand reached for his steel sword, yet paused in drawing it as he saw the source of the noise. It was another dire wolf, full grown and white furred, a bigger then the slain female wolf. The wolf was far enough to not be seen by the others as Geralt stared it down. He noticed how its face was scarred, a claw mark across one side and eye, no doubt from a bear by the looks of it. For a long while he stared at the wolf, wondering if it attack to reclaim its pups or not. Yet it look away after a long moment and slip away into the woods. Geralt relaxed his grip on his blade, watching the white furred beast disappear among the trees.

"Old white wolf…." He muttered before Robb yelled out from the road.

"What's matter Geralt?" The Stark questioned out.

Shaking his head, Geralt moved back to the road and for his horse. "Nothing. Thought I saw something in the woods" He answered back before moving his horse forward as the group continued back to Winterfell. Yet riding along he kept thinking about the wolf and that knowing gaze it had.

…

Later that evening, Geralt decided to see Ned to discuss what Will had shared with him. Everything that the Ranger had said troubled the Witcher along with Ned's initial denial. He knew something was going on with Ned since he never seen the man so troubled, so stern and serious. The guards would escort the Witcher to Eddard's study, the man reading over letters and logs before looking to the Witcher and the guards.

"Leave us please." He muttered to the men, who'd nod and leave the room, closing the door behind them.

"We need to talk about the Ranger Will." Geralt said, moving up to the heavy wooden desk while Ned read over a letter.

"If you are questioning why he had to be executed it's because it's the law. Has been seen the Night's Watch founding." Ned calmly stated back.

"I know the rules. The issue is you should have given us more time. Question him more, talk to the Watch or check the area he had been attacked." Geralt argued back.

At this point Ned looked at Geralt, silent for a long moment. "He has been traveling for weeks. If any clues could be found, they'd long been claimed by the frost and snow." Shifting up from his seat, he'd stand up now. "And the Watch would only disprove the man's claim, say it was a desperate excuse about how Wildlings ambushed and killed them."

"He didn't lie. Simple as that." Geralt remarked back.

"That's you word though Geralt, one that you relied on your…tricks to get." Ned muttered back. "Yet what do you expect me to say? Claim that the White Walkers are real and somehow connected to your missing Ciri?" He'd shake his head. "I'll admit I've seen signs of change coming. The Night's Watch is too thin to watch the whole wall. Patrols beyond it are non-existence. Wildlings are slipping in by the dozens as if running from something." He'd pause, one hand clenched as he'd tap on his desk lightly. "Yet for all we know there could be warring with the tribes up north, some cult or radical group using a myth to spread fear. The Walkers are a myth, a tale of thousands of years long past.

Geralt was silent, admitted Ned's argument made sense from a point of view. "Then let me go to the Wall. Let me question the men there, examine the Wall or even scout just beyond it. I'll get the truth and proof."

"You'll waste your time. Robert will be here within a few weeks, too long for you to get to Castle Black and back." Ned answered back. "You won't have enough talk to speak with the King and if anything I need you here during his visit."

"Why, what has changed?" Geralt questioned.

Ned sighed, sliding a letter to Geralt. "The Hand of the Kind is dead. Raven just came in…dated a month so back." The Witcher read it over as Eddard continued to speak. "Jon Arryn was a second father to me. When the Mad King demanded me and Robert to be surrendered to him, Arryn defended us and was one of the first to rebel. The man was honorable, wise and decent…yet now he has died under mysterious circumstances."

"Like you were saying back in the Godswood." Geralt muttered, making Ned nod.

"The elk and wolf at the road shows you investigating skill. What would take a trained hunter minutes, you deduced it all in seconds." Ned remarked. "I need you're wit and skill. There is something at the heart of the kingdom, a real threat that doesn't hide beyond myths and stories."

The Witcher grumbled a bit, hating how Ned pressured the matter. "This isn't my land and Robert isn't my King."

Eddard shook his head, glancing down at his desk in thought. "Then what is your price?"

Geralt blinked in confusion. "What?"

"How much gold then? What resources can I trade you? As you've told me a Witcher takes contracts, so let me give you one." Ned explained.

"No." Geralt stated, making it Eddard's turn to look confused. "I get your reasons my lord. You've made a good case back in the Godswoods and now. Yet the last time I got involved in such matters I ended up blamed as an assassin, good people died and a mass invasion happened in the end." Pausing, he'd look right at Eddard sternly. "You need to wait, take your time on this matter. If you rush to conclusions you will only cause trouble for your House…and put your life, even your family's on the line." With that he'd turn to leave, Ned having that troubled look as the door slammed shut.

 **Notice: So ends this three parter. Next week Robert and company arrive and things will truly pick up. Going to be tricky balancing so many characters yet I promise they will be engaging moments. Hopefully I can keep up the weekly releases. Besides that please share your thoughts and reviews!**


	6. S1-E5: Old Wolf and Burned Hound

**Chapter 5: Old Wolf and Burned Hound**

The following two weeks passed as Geralt continued his usual routine between his reading, sparring against the older Stark sons and his tutoring of Bran. He took this time to distance himself from Eddard, although the Northern lord seemed to be busy with preparations for King Robert's arrival. He'd also go to the blacksmith and fletcher with the blueprints for one of the more basic crossbows he had on hand with a few additions on his part, making it a personalized weapon for Bran.

Geralt intensified his duels with Jon, Rob and Theon as he pushed them to their limits. None of them had landed a blow on him, yet whenever the three sparred against even the most trained Stark soldiers they easily outmatched them. It was strange training them like this, making him wonder if Vesemir's training habits had rubbed off onto him. Theon continued to be troublesome ever since he had shoved the Iron Islander during the discovery of the dire wolves. Despite all his skill he still suffered from his overconfidence and arrogance. Still Robb and Jon seemed to balance him out whenever they were all together for training.

He also helped the Stark family with their dire wolves, who were already the size of small dogs in the short time the Stark's had taken them in. They were eating their weight in meat which explained their constant rapid growth. Mainly he focused on this time to stay around Arya and Sansa, since they didn't understand how to handle and train such animals. The eldest female Stark had been weary of him, yet he kept a formalness around her that won her over slightly. He guessed she got that from her mother, who while polite always had a judging manner about her. She had learned about his crossbow and sword practice with Bran, something she didn't seem pleased with. Maybe she preferred Rodrik in tutoring her son, yet the old master-at-arms had shown no issue on the matter. He knew Catelyn cared for his children, yet she was being overly controlling with them.

…

Late into the week, Geralt had decided to take a break from his usual duties and have some time by himself. He decided to go to the Godswood, having gotten permission despite his last argument with Ned. It was good at least that Eddard wasn't a vindictive man, since Geralt felt if he had acted in such a way to any ruler back home, he'd be thrown out or tossed in a jail cell…that is if they could force him into one. If anything he wanted to go to the clearing he and Eddard had talked at to examine the Weirwood tree. Finding it, he'd walk closer to the red leafed tree, one hand touched the ancient white bark. Being up close, his medallion did lightly pulse, yet it was very weak.

"Not much of spark left in you." He muttered as he'd look at the carved face on the tree, which had a peaceful if otherworldly look to it. "Reminds me of a source of power." At this point he'd move to clear the spot before the tree before shifting down onto his knees, taking the meditative poise before it. He wasn't sure if he could tap into whatever power the tree had, yet at the least the surroundings would be relaxing for meditation. Closing his eyes, he'd take a deep breath and exhale as he focused, slowing his heartbeat and opening his senses to his surroundings. Yet he tapped into a sixth sense that most magical inclined beings had, even though his magical skill was very basic. He could sense it…a faint shiver of power about the tree. It was old and so distant, a great power that was being deeply suppressed. He'd try to tap into it like other sources, yet reaching for it stretch his willpower further and further. It was hard to keep focus, making his body tense during meditation.

"Geralt?" A soft voice spoke, making the Witcher snap out of his trance. He was panting, realizing he had gotten lost in his meditation. Hours had passed by the looks of it, yet his attention focused on the voice.

It was Arya who looked at him with a concerned look, seeing hint of surprise in the Witcher's eyes. Beside her was her direwolf Nymeria, who gave a curious glance at Geralt before moving over to him. "Are you alright you seem shaken?" Arya remarked while Geralt moved to stand up, brushing the dirt off his knees.

"Was meditating." He simply said.

"Is that some Witcher trick?" Arya asked curiously while her direwolf moved up close, sniffing at Geralt before moving up close. The Witcher couldn't help but rub the canine's head, scratching behind her ears.

"Sort of. It's a bit complicated to explain." He answered back, making the girl give a shrug. "So why are you out here? Taking Nymeria for a walk?"

"Heh, can't exactly go beyond the walls." Arya chuckled as she'd pick up a stone, lightly skipping it along the tranquil pond. "I like coming here often. The Godswood is so much like the stories I read or the ones you share."

Geralt paused as he look around the beautiful forest, nodding in agreement. "It does. Reminds me a bit of a Toussaint woodland, just with a more northerner touch to it." He explained.

"Is that another one of your land's kingdoms?" Arya asked, making Geralt nod.

"Said to be one of the happiest places in the Nilfgaard Empire. I visited there a long time ago for work and it felt like a land out of a fairytale." He described.

By this point Arya sat on a large smooth rock and had Nymeria tugged close as she'd listened intently. "I do have some questions about what you do as a Witcher. I want to know more about the stuff you hunted!"

"Guess I've shared the most basic tales I have…alright then ask." He'd answer back.

"So…are there good monsters in your world?" Arya asked. "I mean the tales say the Children were good before disappearing after all."

Geralt nodded. "Most of the creatures I've told you are little more than mindless or primal, yet there are plenty that are sentient and act just like you and me." He explained. "Trolls while low witted and primitive are social enough to pick up conversation or share riddles. Often though the price for losing is being part of their stew.

"Bleck...doesn't sound like the friendliest types to me." Arya muttered.

"Every creature is different, even the most monstrous ones can be unique. Some are just innocent beings who want to live peaceful among humans." He'd think for a moment. "Dopplers are one type creature that are kind hearted in nature. Their shapeshifters who can look like us yet overall just want to blend in. Few times I ever had to fight one, it was often on a misunderstanding and they were quick to apologize. One of them that I did encounter became good friend, a sly merchant and actor named Dudu."

The name had Arya giggling, enough for even Geralt to crack a smile. "Quite the odd name." She chuckled.

"That's because he normally took the form of a Halfling, sort of a half sized human with hairy feet." Geralt explained.

"You mean like the Imp?" The young Stark remarked. "I heard the Lannister's have a family member who half the size of a man, has a pig's tail and a head twice as big as mine...with horns on top!"

Geralt did remember hearing stories about the Lannister family. He taken some time to read about the current family members. From his understanding the 'Imp' as Arya called him was Tyrion, the youngest son of Tywin.

"Doubtful. No doubt was born with dwarfism." Geralt simply stated, making Arya give a confused look at the term. "It a special and rare condition people can be born with that makes them shorter and have abnormal limbs at times. No pig tails or devil horns included."

Arya grumbled at his answer, expecting something more thrilling answer from the monster hunter. "I think rumors sound more exciting." She muttered before realizing they were shifting off topic. "Alright…can you think of the scariest monster you've ever faced?"

"Scariest…huh…hard to say." He muttered. "Well I can say there are at least two creatures Witchers are never meant to fight. Dragons and High Vampires."

"Wait you have dragons where you come from!?" Arya remarked in an excited manner. "I thought they were all dead…well I mean they are here in Westeros and Essos from what I've heard."

"Sort of. The weaker breeds were hunted down over the ages, yet the more exotic ones have simply vanished. No doubt moved to other lands to avoid annoying humans following rumors of them guarding piles of treasure." Geralt explained. "From what your books say the dragons here grew as big as the rarest types back home and seem more instinct driven…although tamable." Yet looking at Arya she seemed bored with his examination, making him realize he babbling now. "Sorry…habit." He muttered, making Arya smirk at his apology.

"Anyway you still haven't told me what monster scared you the most." Arya questioned.

Geralt paused as he thought over on how to answer. "Can't think of anything that scared me before…yet the most dangerous I can think of were a trio of monsters, the Ladies of the Wood. Ancient witches who had created their own domain over neighboring villages of a swamp."

"Witches? You mean three old woman with warts got you nervous?" Arya chuckled, yet when she saw Geralt dead serious stare, she'd be quickly silent. That look even make Nymeria give a small whine.

"They were no joke. These weren't a bunch of old ladies raising toads and chackling over a caldron. They were creatures that had plagued the world when it was young." Geralt warned in a calm yet serious manner. He'd continue to detail their dark powers and horrible acts such as enslaving the villagers of the surrounding area under their 'protection' in exchange for their young and being worshipped. Arya held Nymeria closely during the story, especially hearing the part about the grim fate of the children the hags kept. Yet he'd end the story sharing how two of the crones were slain, yet the last sister Weavess having escaped the battle against Ciri.

"S-So what about the last one? I mean she's still out there." Arya muttered nervously.

"Well she can hurt you or anyone. She's pretty much a…well…world away." Geralt remarked. "Besides, after I find Ciri and we return home, we're going to hunt her down. Make sure she can't hurt and torment anyone else." His serious tone showed how he meant it, making Arya relax slightly.

"I can't imagine anything worse than those…things." Arya remarked.

"True. Crones are by far one of the foulest beings I've seen." However he pause, thinking over the long journey he had searching for Ciri and following the Witcher's Way. "Yet…despite all the beasts and monsters I've seen there is one race that does the worst to others and itself."

Arya looked confused yet curious at what he was meaning. "What do you mean?"

The girl's innocent look made him hesitate though, unsure he should tell her the truth. For him, despite all the horrible creatures he had fast in his long life, humanity always seemed to be far more violent, cruel and destructive. Yet she hadn't seen that, at least for now. She was still too young and isolated from the harshness of the world…a reason why he felt Eddard's plans to investigate the late Hand of the King was a risky move.

"Nevermind…just an old Witcher with too much on his mind." He muttered back, although Arya seemed dead set to know.

"Come on, no excuses! Just the way you looked was serious. I know what you were about to say was important!' She argued back.

Geralt gave a small sigh, since Arya really was acting like Ciri when she was young, always questioning and challenging. "How about this, I'll tell you when I come back with Ciri. Right now you've had enough horror stories for once." With that said, he'd get up and stretch a bit before moving towards the edge of the clearing. "Anyway we should head back. Sun is getting low and I'd rather not have your mother worrying about you."

Arya seemed disappointed she wouldn't learn what Geralt was going to tell her, yet nodded as she'd let go of Nymeria to follow him while the dire wolf chased after them back to the main yard of hold.

…

A two more days past as the usual routine continued for Geralt. He had just finished a long sparring lesson with Robb, Jon and Theon who had all become honed fighters under his tough training. It was impressive how well they had learned in just under two months yet Jon and Robb were evenly matched by the end. Already the group were packing away the training swords and getting mugs of water, relaxing since it was a cool yet sunny day.

"I think this will be the last day of training for us." Geralt suddenly remarked, making the three young men give surprised looks.

"That's it? Run out of things to teach us?" Theon questioned.

"At least within your limits." The Witcher remarked back, making Theon give an annoyed look while Robb and Jon chuckled at his expression. "Point is you all have your own fighting styles, things that you or I can't simply change. All I can say is one final piece of advice."

All three nodded, listening intently to what Geralt had to say.

"In a real fight, don't fight fair." He simply stated, making the three look confused and glance at each other.

"Not exactly the most honor piece of knowledge you've shared with us Geralt." Robb remarked, being respectful despite what the Witcher had said. "Father has always put honor before all else even in battle."

"In a duel, yah I can understand that. Yet what if one day you're facing down an assassin or against just a common soldier? Honor won't matter to them, only winning since it means life or death." He simply explained. "Honor will be worthless if your opponent doesn't give a damn about it. I've seen enough decent men die because of it and I'd rather not see any of you make the same mistake."

The three were silent, thoughtful over the matter yet troubled. After all it was against what Ned had taught them. However Geralt moved up and firmly patted them all on the shoulders to snap them back to attention.

"Overall remember what I taught you and you'll get far in life." However before he or any of the others could say more, they heard Catelyn speak out, making everyone look towards the main wall.

They saw Bran climbed agilely down the side of the nearby tower while his mother and Maester Luwin stood by. From the noble woman's expression, she wasn't pleased with the boy's climb. From what Geralt knew from chatting with the boy, he often did this much to his mother's annoyance. Geralt and the others moved closer as Bran seemed excited about something while dropping down onto the nearby roof then climbing down the vines to the ground.

"But he's coming right now!" Bran explained while his mother walked up, leaning forward to look the boy in the eyes.

"I want you to promise me. No. More. Climbing." She asked, making the boy look down for a moment then back at her.

"I promise." He said, keeping a straight face when he spoke.

Catelyn gave a sigh, her expression softened as she'd give a small smile at her son. "You know what?"

Bran gave a confused look, head tilting slightly. "What?"

"You always look down at your feet when you lie." She coyly stated, making Bran give a big smile back, not seeming guilty about it.

"Ran along to your father. Tell him the King is close." She'd quickly order, making the boy nod and hurry off for the Great Keep.

At this point Geralt and the other approached her and Luwin, the Maester giving a small bow to the group. The Witcher gave a small nod back before looking to Catelyn, her gaze stern when focused onto him.

"Boy can climb well you know." He remarked calmly.

"Well or not, it's not a safe thing to do." The woman remarked back. "He's young after all and shouldn't be putting himself at risk like that."

"Yet he won't be a boy forever." Geralt argued back. "He's a smart and fit lad. I trust that he can handle himself."

"Then we'll agree to disagree Master Witcher." Catelyn muttered before giving a small sigh. "Family aside though, we all should get ready." Looking to Robb and Theon, she'd move off to the Great Keep to prepare, leaving the three to themselves.

"Heh…if Yen were here…" Geralt muttered, wondering what the grand sorceress would do to such a frustrating woman like Catelyn. No doubt debate on changing her into some small animal or other bothersome spell.

"Mother has a point. Have to look our best for King Robert." Robb remarked, making Theon nod in agreement. "Anyway Geralt, we'll met you back in the yard later." With that he and the Iron Islander left, leaving the Witcher with just Jon. Looking at the young man, he could see the side long look he had. Catelyn had once again shown her discord for him, not even acknowledged him, not by name or even looking to him.

"Look…" Geralt put a steady hand on Jon's shoulder, making the young man look to him. "You're as much as a Stark as Robb and Bran. She may not see it but everyone else does. Ned does too, yet tradition forces him otherwise."

"I know that. Doesn't make it any easier knowing though." Jon muttered.

"Then don't cower or be silent. Speak up instead. If there are consequences then face them, yet show everyone that you are as steadfast as father and brothers." He'd shift away, moving for the Guest House. "Anyway, clean yourself up and get your best cloak. Maybe you last chance to meet the King after all."

Jon smirked at the last remark before Geralt moved for the Guest House while he headed off to the Great Keep. Geralt knew the young man needed some motivation since today was meant to be an exciting occasion. Arriving to his room, Geralt quickly changed into fresh clothes yet also into a custom made northern outfit, similar to what the house hold members but with his own personal touch to the design. Strapping his swords to his back, he'd get his white hair fixed up before heading outside once more. Just checking out from one window, he could see the entire guard and soldier force were out for the King's arrival, the men lining up before the main gate and through the court yard.

Already the Stark family, their servants and trusted house hold were lining up. Everyone was dressed in the norths finest, with the all the Starks wearing lavish fur cloaks. The men were in there best leathers and the women fair colorful dresses. Ned was at the front with his wife and children all lined up, although Jon was set just behind Robb. Eddard gave a small nod to Geralt as he approached. "Good timing. Your spot is beside Jon in the second line." Pausing, he'd give curious look at Geralt as if realizing something. "I take you know how to act properly around a King yes?"

"I've had my fair share, so no need to worry. Don't plan to insult the man if that is what you're worried." Geralt reassured him. "Just don't expect me to do any fancy bows or kiss any oversized rings."

Ned couldn't help but chuckle at the last remark. "Heh last time Robert was one for formality, so I doubt it will come to that."

Geralt smirked before moving to his spot, nodding to Jon as he'd stand beside him. For a long while the group stood around being silent as the nearing stamper of the royal caravan neared the gates. Yet as Geralt looked over the gathered group, he quickly realized Arya was missing. Before he could point it out though, the young girl revealed herself as she hurried up to the front row with a guard's dome helm on. Ned was quick to stop her before taking the helm and handing it off to Sir Rodrik who'd fiddle with the piece of armor before hiding it under his cloak. Arya meanwhile moved to her spot, playfully pushing Bran to get some space.

Geralt shook his head, yet quickly stood to attention as at last the caravan arrived. The first to ride in were ornately armored knights of the King's Guard, the honor guard of the royal family, proclaimed elite warriors of the continent. Riding close behind was a dashing teenager, who Geralt assumed was one of the Lannister children considering his fine short cut blond hair, no doubt Joffrey considering his age. Riding in, his gaze was quickly set to Sansa, a small charming smile on his lips which had the northern girl smile back in a friendly manner. He did remember Sansa talking about him, acting like a Toussaint maiden dreaming of marrying a prince. Considering how she acted, no one took her seriously on the matter.

Behind the prince was a tall and muscular man dressed in black plate and a unique hound helmet. Geralt heard this one was Sandor Clegane, Joffrey's bodyguard and the Lannister's enforcer. His fierce and disorderly nature yet set loyalty to the family gained him the nickname 'The Hound'. The man stop beside the prince before lifting his helmet visor put, showing a gruff scarred face, which Geralt could tell was quite old and caused by fire. Made the man quite intimidating though.

Next came a lavish wooden and iron bound carriage, fitting for one of high royalty back home. No doubt meant for comfortable riding out on the road. Following behind it were another group of King's Guard and a large bearded man in a large dark regal cloak. At a glance Geralt thought he had just found the Red Baron's older brother considering how the looks were quite similar. However he'd realize everyone was quickly dropping to one knee towards there King. He'd do the same, yet his head wasn't completely low so he could just see what was going on. Royal pages hurried out with a wooden step for Robert to dismount with ease before the man quickly moved right towards Ned. Eddard look up as his old friend stood before him, remanding silent as the king gestured for him to stand. In doing so, everyone stood up and looked intensively at what was going to happen.

There was a tense silence before Eddard at last spoke. "Your grace."

Robert didn't answer for a moment, looking at the Northern Lord over before at last speaking in a gruff voice. "You've gotten fat."

Everyone in the group gave a mix of looks, unsure of how to react although Rodrik couldn't help but high and amuse smirk. Geralt already was debating if that dimensional relation theory was true and he was just meeting this world's Red Baron now. Eddard though gave an odd look to his king, yet the way he looked him over seemed to be a silent 'look who's talking'.

Robert caught onto the jesting look as he give a deep laugh, making Eddard do the same before the two gave a firm hug to each other. Chuckling, Robert looked to Catelyn before hugging her and then moving back to Ned.

"Gods it's been over ten years. Where the hell have you been?" He'd remark.

"Guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours after all." Ned answered back, being formal despite Robert's casual manners.

Geralt continued to overhear their conversation while looking to the carriage, seeing a beautiful golden haired woman who had the finest dress and furred cloak out of the gathered group. No doubt this was Robert's wife, Cersei Lannister, who many proclaimed was the most beautiful woman of all of Westeros. Considering her alluring looks, he could said she'd have easy claim to the title.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya whispered as she glanced around slightly, making Sansa tug her in place.

"Shut up!" She hissed at her younger sister.

Meanwhile Robert moved to go met the Stark children as he'd shake hands with Robb, eyeing Sansa then having a short chat with Arya and Bran. However moving along back towards Ned, the King paused as he'd see Geralt now.

"You there. Step forward." He said in a commanding manner.

Geralt paused for a moment before stepping up, Robb giving him space to be before the king. Robert looked Geralt over, eyes having a sharp warrior's look to it as he was sizing up the white haired man. "When I read the letter that some white hair strange was found in the woods, I found some Targaryan straggler had crawled out of hiding." The man sternly remarked. Yet locking gazes with Geralt, he'd give hint of surprise seeing those piercing yellow cat like eyes. "Ugh…then again you seem to be something different."

"Let me guess, far too ugly to be a Targaryan?" Geralt remarked back, arms crossed. "Seems to the answer I usually get."

Everyone was silent, yet in the end Robert laughed out and grinned, patting Geralt roughly on the shoulder. "Ah I like you already! Ned's letter spoke highly of you and I can see why. " Nodding, he'd step back and look to Ned. "We'll have to talk later. Right now I have important matters to tend to. Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects."

Cersei meanwhile approached the group, Ned greeting her and kissing her hand before the fair Lannister spoke up. "We've been riding for a month my love, surely the dead can wait."

Robert looked at her for a moment, yet shifted back to Ned who he gave a nod. "Ned." Already the King was off, heading for the crypt entrance. Eddard looked at Cersei for a moment before following after his old friend, leaving the group by themselves.

Cersei seemed annoyed about the matter as she moved back towards her carriage and to one of the King's Guard who had removed his helmet. Considering his handsome looks and similar golden hair, Geralt guessed this one was Jamie Lannister, twin brother of the queen. The two seemed to have a short conversation, which his sharp ears could only pick out a few words such as 'finding that little beast'. Jamie seemed to give a small sigh and nod before marching off towards the village that made up the outer area of Winterfell.

At this point the group split up as the royal caravan moved to unpack supplies and belongings, while the Stark men helped. As for the Stark family members, they were quick to go introduce themselves to the rest of the royal family. Geralt looked to Jon, who gave a shrug.

"The King is…an interesting man for sure." The young man muttered.

"Quite the blunt one really. Still better than the high and mighty types I've met." Geralt remarked back. "Guess we won't have much to do until the feast."

"Ah right…the feast. I may not be around for that." Already the two stepped aside to look over the caravan, keeping out of the way for the workers.

"Let me guess. Be rude to have a bastard among royalty." Geralt remarked, making Jon nod silently. "Lady Stark's suggestion no doubt. Well you may not be able to share the high table, but doesn't mean you can sit with the common household."

"Heh…not worried that may be frown upon." Jon questioned.

"If Lady Catelyn has an issue, she can argue it with me. Anyway I need to take care of a few things before the feast. No excuses, I expect you there." With that, he'd head for the main court yard where the different knights and other mounted travelers moved to store their horses. While he was going for the Guest House to wait out for the evening, a young male voice spoke out.

"White haired one, I'd like to speak to you."

Looking over, Geralt realized that it was Prince Joffery who spoke to him. The prince approached with the Hound following close behind, his unique helmet under one arm. With it off his scarred face was more exposed, showing just how disfiguring the burn scars were.

"Your grace. What is it you want?" Geralt asked, in a formal if blunt manner.

"Just curious to meet the man who slayed a dozen Wildlings. When we got the raven, the whole caravan was gossiping about the white haired man with two swords." The boy looked over Geralt, seeing the scars and nodding. "Sure have the look of a killer about you." A short pause followed. "So what is your name anyway?"

"Geralt of Rivia. As for why I killed them, it was in self-defense. Didn't know or care who they were at the moment." The Witcher calmly stated.

"Heh…seems like an excuse to me. Their savages after all and deserved to be cut down." Joffery looked to the Hound now as he continued to speak. "Ever fight a Wildling before? Heard you could gut one and they'd keep fighting."

"Can't say I know sire. Everyone else normally drops at that point." The gruff man muttered.

Joffrey looked back at Geralt, a sly yet cruel hint in those eyes. "So Hound. What do you take of Geralt here? Think you could best him?"

Sandor and Geralt looked at each other, both already sizing up each other. "Can't say for sure until I see what he can do. Considering the scars I'd say he's seen his battles."

Joffrey thought for a moment, pacing slightly between the two men. "Hmm…it will be a while until the feast. It will be dull having to wait." A smile creeped across his lips before looking to the nearby sparring ring. "A fight then! That be an interesting show for everyone right?"

The nearby servants and guards would pause at their work, muttering in curious interest. Already Geralt had a bad feeling about this. This young prince had an eagerness about seeing a fight.

"Not sure if it be wise to do so." Geralt started before the prince spoke up.

"It wouldn't be wise to refuse me Geralt." The boy remarked sternly. "The road has been boring and a duel be thrilling to see." Already Joffrey nodded to Sandor to follow him to the ring, along with some of the servants and guards gathering up.

Geralt sighed as he'd follow along, already fiddling with his strapped blades on his back. However, once again Joffrey spoke up.

"No need for that Geralt. I thought real men duel with real blades, not blunt pieces of iron." The prince remarked with a smug look.

"Of course…" The Witcher muttered as the Hound set his helmet back onto his head before drawing his quite bastard sword from its sheath. He'd move to draw his steel blade before pacing into the sparring circle, staring down the armored man.

"Try to make this entertaining." The Hound gruffly muttered before closing his helmet. "If anything I can do with a challenge." The large man's stance shifted as he grasped his sword with both hands, a very aggressive poise.

Geralt kept silent, as he'd shift his blade to that low angle, yet gripped it with both hands. He felt the Hound have much more power behind his attacks and require more effort to guard against. For a long moment the two stared down each other, no doubt waiting for the other to make their first move. Everyone was silent yet Joffrey was quickly getting annoyed from the lack of action.

Yet just as the prince was about to speak, the Hound gave a fierce yell and charged Geralt, moving shockingly fast for a man his size. Lucky Geralt wasn't a normal man as his honed reflexes kicked in, as his sword moved up to block the powerful overhead blow, giving a low grunt from the effort. Both pulled their weapons back, feet shifting as they moved to circle each other before Geralt lunged in for a stab. Sandor twisted his blade to block the attack, yet had one hand let go of his blade to lash out with an armored backhand attack. Geralt was fast enough to turn his head, the iron fist just grazing the left side of his face. If he were a normal man, Geralt knew such a blow from the Hound would have broken his jaw and sent teeth flying. At best the blow would stun him and leave a decent mark, giving the towering man the chance to land some potentially seriously hits."

Yet the Witcher also took advantage of the close quarters as he'd jab his left fist right into Sandor's side, targeting the less armored section at the hip. While he couldn't see the Hound's face under his helmet, the shocked and pained grunt showed the blow hurt, considering the surprising strength Geralt had. The man staggered back, left hand gripping the spot while Geralt winced as he flexed his hand, bloodied slightly from hitting chain metal. However he recovered faster as he'd grasp his blade two-handed once more, stepping up as he raised his steel sword overhead. Sandor got his second wind, only giving himself enough time to brace his blade for the powerful strike Geralt dealt.

For the Hound, he could tell Geralt was strong, yet the force of that blow had even the tall man be forced a step back. The Witcher kept up the attack, swinging upward with the same powerful behind the strike while Sandor was forced to back again. The loud clang of metal was constant in the yard, almost over whelming the cheering of the gathered crowd. Joffrey was quite active, yelling out orders to the Hound and encouraging him on.

"Damn it, hit him back!" The prince called out, making the Hound growl out as the tension of battle and the boy's ordering frustrated him.

In the end he did hit back, yet with a strong kick right to Geralt's gut instead of a sword strike. With his defenses low, the strike was dead on, knocking the wind out of Geralt. The force of the kick even knock him back onto one knee, the Witcher having to brace one hand to the ground to avoid falling over. Coughing and panting, he'd look up as the Hound roared before he'd strike down, his eyes having a pure look of bloodlust in them. Geralt pulled his sword up, one hand bracing under his blade as the heavy clashed down against his.

"Bloody…stubborn bastard!" The Hound growled as he'd keep striking down at Geralt with constant blows, not even giving Geralt a chance to get up from his kneeling stance. In worse, the man mixed in short kicks right at the Witcher, trying to break his guard or knock him over even if it was a cheap tactic for a duel. He had to turn his stance just to have those armored kicks strike at his shoulder instead of his face. At this point people were muttering as Geralt grunted and growled in pain, yet refused to yield while Joffrey seemed pleased at the sight. "If I have to beat you senseless to finish this I will!" Sandor snapped.

At this point Geralt's anger surged up as he gripped his sword hilt tightly. Those yellow eyes had a fierce look to them as Sandor readied for a final blow with his blade. With adrenaline pumping through him, he'd ignore the pain and push his reflexes to more supernatural limits. With only one hand grasping his sword, he'd swing out just as Sandor's brought his blade down at him. For Geralt everything was in slow motion yet for the crowd and the Hound it was lightning fast. Despite the raw strength behind that attack, the Hound's blade was parried with a resounding clang, forcing the towering man to break his guard stance. Geralt sprung up to his feet before pressing his left hand right against Sandor's chest before making the Aard sign.

It was a stupid move to use a Sign with so many people around, yet raw combat instinct just pushed Geralt on. Yet it seemed the world's waning magic was a blessing at this moment as the telekinetic push was unleashed yet it did little more than knock Sandor roughly to the ground. At that point Geralt realized his hasty mistake as he'd look at the Hound, who groaned from the hard fall and struggling to get up. He knew if he had put such focus into a Sign like that he would have had the man smashed into the nearby wall and half the gathered crowd knocked to the ground. Probably even crush Sandor's ribcage with the Sign being point blank as well.

"Aghh…what…what the hell was that?!" Sandor gasped as he'd stagger up, fumbling to get his visor up as a look of shocked confusion showed on his face.

Indeed, the crowd was just as confused at what had just happened.

"It was so sudden."

"Was there some kind of flash?"

"No that was a trick of the light from the swords!"

The Witcher realized he had to make an excuse fast. "Nothing…I just shoved you." Geralt muttered, as he'd catch his breath before sheathing his blade while the crowd cheered at the fierce duel concluding.

"No fucking way!" The Hound growled as he stomped forward, making Geralt tense up. "You hardly tensed up. Didn't even pull your arm back! No one is that strong…well…maybe him."

Geralt remained silent, eyes narrowing in frustration towards the gruff man, curious at who 'him' was. "Maybe you just tripped. Everything happened quite fast after all."

Before the Hound could argue any further, Joffrey spoke up to get their attention. "Done already? I thought there be more…after all you two seemed to be at each other's throats."

Geralt didn't answer back, only giving a sharp look to the prince who flinch at the cold glare. Sandor seemed to snap out of his angry state, realizing the Witcher was moments from snapping back at the young royal. "Decided it's a draw. Besides rather not bloodier ourselves for the feast." He explained to Joffrey.

"Heh…be improper to have you two prancing around cut up and bleeding." Pausing the prince gave a small grin as an idea came to mind. "Then Geralt and you should fight again, yet this time at the upcoming tournament! That would be a spectacular scene for all the people to see right?" The gathered crowd would mutter and nod in agreement. "Maybe have your brother join the fray to make things more exciting."

The mention of the Hound's sibling drew two emotions to the scarred man, fear and anger. This time it was Geralt's turn to intervene. "You make a good point Joffrey. If your father allows it I'll take part in a match during the event." He quickly answered back.

"Good. At least now I have something to look forward in the coming months." The prince, looked between the two men before nodding. "You're dismissed Geralt. Hound, consider yourself free for the rest of the day and night. I don't need you breathing down my neck during the feast."

At this point Sandor had calmed himself as he'd give a sigh and small nod. "Thank you sire…" He grumbled, obviously bothered by the boy's suggestions about the tournament.

With that, Joffrey turned to his servants as he gave some quick orders for them to get back to work and hurried off to check through his belongings.

Geralt and Sandor looked at each other, both still catching their breath after that violent duel yet left them both tense still. "Guess your reputation of being dishonorable is true. You fucking kicked me while I was down." Geralt muttered under his breath. "

"Well you bloody cheated with that…hand gesture thing." The Hound growled back clenching one fist as if ready to strike at the Witcher. "But you know what. Cheat or not you gave me a challenge for once and got the brat off my back. I'm thankful for that at least." His hand dropped and he'd step away from Geralt to tug his helmet off, getting his unkept hair all over his scarred face. "So for now we're even." Moving aside, he'd get a flash from his pack and gulp it down, no doubt booze to numb the pain he felt. "Anyway off with you. Like to enjoy some damn peace and quiet while I can."

Geralt rubbed his bruised shoulder, nodding in agreement. "Enjoy your evening then Sandor." He'd move to leave the sparring circle, yet did notice the man look to him with a confused look, not being expected to be called his true name.

Once inside the Guest House, Geralt gave a low groan as the pain kicked in after that fight. "Hate having to hold back." He muttered, yet he did think over how his sign had reacted. It was far weaker than before, even more then the time he had lost his memory. At this rate he felt Sign's wouldn't be reliable at this rate even if the situation was dire. Moving up to his room, Geralt moved for his potion bag and got a small sample of Swallow out. While he could heal quickly naturally, he didn't want to go through the evening sore and bruised. Taking a sip of the blue mixture, he'd take a deep breath as the potent liquid eased the pain rapidly. With the soreness easing away, he'd take some time to clean himself off from the duel, washing off the sweat and dirty with a wet rag before changing into fresh clothes. By the time he was changed, his shoulder could flex fine and his fingers no longer cracked from the slightly movement.

For now he'd take some time to rest, sitting at his desk to read over another book to quickly pass the time until the nightfall came.

 **Notice: A new rivalry begins! I hope this was an intense fight between the two, putting a more brutal aspects compared to the sparring fights we've been having. The Hound is after all a tough and pragmatic fighter, not caring for following rules to most duels. With Geralt handicapping himself, it also leaves him exposed to more brutal foes as like Sandor. Course being a mutant gives.**

 **Overall, review and message me your thoughts!**


	7. S1-E6: The King

**Chapter Six: The King's Feast**

When nighttime arrived, Geralt ventured out from his room as he'd hear the sound of laughter and music filling the air. Already the guests and people of Winterfell were heading for the Great Hall where the feast was being held. As he moved across the yard, Geralt noticed Jon who was off by the stables chatting with a man dressed in black leathers and cloak. The two seemed to be in a heated discussion, yet it soon ended as the man patted Jon on the shoulder before heading towards the feast hall.

Geralt decided to check up on Jon, hurrying over to him before noticing a very short figure step out from the shadows and also approach the Stark bastard. Nearing the two, he'd just hear a few words between the two.

"Your uncle's in the Night's Watch?" The figure said in a well-spoken manner.

"What are you doing back there?" Jon countered back, on guard at first before the figure revealed himself to be a dwarf of a man, dressed in fine leather clothes and waving a flask in one hand. Despite his oversized head, he had a handsome quality about his looks and his head had the recognizable golden color of a Lannister about it even in the low lighting.

"Preparing for the night with your family." The short man simply remarked, pacing over to a nearby fence post to lean up against before sipping his drink. "I've always wanted to see the wall." He started, keeping a casual demeanor while Jon kept a questioning look and was ready to speak again before noticing Geralt. The dwarf glanced at the Witcher, a curious look showing in his blue eyes as he got to see the man's white hair, pale scarred face and sharp cat like eyes. "Well now. The Wildling slayer himself, Geralt I believe yes?" He asked.

The Witcher nodded as he'd move to stand by Jon. "You'd be right. I take you're Tyrion Lannister, the lecherous 'imp' I've heard so much of." He remarked back. "Have to say…Arya was way off on your appearance. Missing the tail and horns."

The Lannister chuckled, shrugging at the remark. "Sadly I left my costume at Casterly Rock. Normally I bring it to such occasions just to embarrass my sister. Those days though are long past." He sarcastic manner. "Jokes aside, I didn't expect to meet you so soon. I thought you'd be sleeping the night away after your duel with the Hound."

At that point Jon looked to Geralt with a surprised look. "Wait, you battled against THE Hound?" He remarked. "Heard the man is a beast in battle and doesn't hesitate to fight dirty.

"Pretty much right. Kicked the shit out of me at one point. Anyway I'm fine, a little wine and rest got me through." Geralt reassured the two.

"So I take you two are going to the feast? Perhaps I may join with you. After all we'd make the quite the show among the tables. The dwarf, the bastard and cat eyed warrior."

Jon seemed annoyed with being titled as 'the bastard' yet Tyrion was quick to raise one hand up. "Sorry I meant no offense with that."

In the end Jon sighed and nodded. "None taken. Still I'm not sure I'll-"

"He will be going." Geralt interrupted, placing a firm hand on Jon's shoulder. "Bastard or not, he's a Stark and has a place there, even if it's at the lowest table."

Jon was silent, for the moment while Tyrion chuckled a bit as he moved towards the two. "Ah a man that understand things! He has a point Snow, don't feel shame for being a bastard, never forget about who you are. The world wouldn't forget. Wear it like armor and no one will be able hurt you with it!" Taking another sip from his flask, he'd shake it and shrug. "So then shall we go crash a feast?" Already the small man was off towards the feast hall while Jon and Geralt had a last moment.

"I know I promised but…" Jon started while Geralt pushed him lightly along towards the feast.

"What did I say about excuses?" Geralt remarked back. "Look if I could tangle with Westeros's most feared warrior, you can survive one night at your own family's feast."

Jon chuckled and shook his head. "Stubborn old man." The remark got a friendly jab to the side from the Witcher. "Fine then. Guess facing one's fears is food for oneself."

Soon the two caught up with Tyrion at the Great Hall doors, the guards opening them for the group. The place was completely different to the dinners Geralt had enjoyed over the last few months as every table was packed with people. Music, cheerful laughter and chatter filled the hall as the party was in full swing.

Eddard was not at the head table but off to the side talking with the man Jon had been talking to, which Geralt deduced was Ned's brother Benjen, First Ranger of the Watch. Already the Witcher wondered what the two were chatting over, no doubt the story the deserter Ranger had given, Jon's interest in joining the Watch and Geralt's interest searching beyond the Wall. For now he left them be, deciding he'd try talking with either man later tomorrow.

"Geralt! You crazy bastard! Up after dancing with the Hound!" The familiar voice of Graffin spoke out to the Witcher. The trio moved towards the guard's table where the man's group of friends sat about over roasted boar and mugs of ale. "I knew you were made of tough stuff, yet to survive the Hound is a rare thing." By then, Graffin noticed Jon and Tyrion, staring a bit at the dwarf. "Hey you're that Lannister fellow."

"Tyrion at your service." The dwarf introduced with a jesting bow before hoping up onto one bench seat and already getting a plate of meat for himself. "Geralt here has been kind enough to invite me along, so I hope you have no issue."

"Heh…never thought I'd be sharing a table with the Imp. Ah hells with it, no issue with it." He'd nod for Jon and Geralt to get a seat while his companions got plates cut meat passed over to the pair. "Good to see you with us Jon."

The Stark nodded, giving a small yet welcomed smile back as he'd cut into his plate of boar. "Thank Geralt for bringing me along. Thought he'd drag me here back at the yard."

"A little force can be quite convincing." Geralt chuckled before Jon gave a short elbow jab to the Witcher in annoyance.

"Blunt yet wise words friend!" Graffin laughed out before raising a mug. "Toast then to the Witcher! The White Wolf who clashed with the Hound!" Everyone raised up a mug and leaned in to clack them together, Tyrion having to stand on his bench seat to do so.

Time passed as the group chatted about, Tyrion being the most active as he focused on Geralt. The Witcher spend a good while sharing his half truthful story, having refined it further after studying more about the world. He'd go on to share the tale about what a Witcher on, even casually remarking about the monster slaying as the ale loosened in his tongue. Despite the fact he could drink the most toxic of potions and endure the deadliest poisons, booze still affected him like everything else.

Strangely though Tyrion seemed more fascinated and curious about Geralt's claims of monsters. "Can't remember the last time someone admitted to believing such things with such a dead serious look…while half drunk" The dwarf chuckled. "Yet you seem like no lying man Geralt, even if what you say is outlandish."

"Same could be said about dragons and generation long seasons." The Witcher countered back.

Tyrion paused, thinking some counter argument. "True…right another mug then!"

As the Lannister refilled his mug, Geralt took a sip from his. "So what were you saying about the Wall earlier? Not planning on joining the Watch are you?" The Witcher questioned.

"Gods no!" Tyrion laughed out. "I enjoy my role in life, being my family's amusing sideshow while I go off enjoying all the whores and finest drinks I desire…all on my father's gold of course."

"Quite the carefree career you have. I bet many envy your way of life." The Witcher chuckled while the dwarf a grandiose wave of his hand.

"Life is short Geralt. Too often men are focused on achieving fortune and power, even those with it already. I'm happy with my lot in life and plan to enjoy all the world's pleasures and see its many wonders." He declared to the group.

"So you seeing the Wall just to…for sightseeing? The Witcher questioned.

"It is one of the many wonders of our world yet…" Tyrion paused to think for a moment, tapping his fingers along his mug before a mischievous grin crossed his lips. Standing on his bench seat, he'd suddenly climbed onto the table quite agilely, nearly knocking a few plates and mugs doing so. "I do one amusing idea in mind. I plan to go up to the top, watch the sunset with the best wine I can find…and piss off the edge of it!" The group burst out in laughter at his crazy idea. "Bet that will give the Wildlings pause to near it!"

Jon shook his head in embarrassment, yet smirked in amusement as Tyrion gulping down his drink before returning for his seat. Geralt smirked, yet glancing at the head table where he could see Cersei eyeing the group, a distasteful look showing towards her noisy younger brother. Seemed the stories of the two have sour relations were true if that look meant anything. The woman however noticed the Witcher's gaze, giving a soft smile before looking to Catelyn who she quickly began to talk with.

"So what about you Witcher? From what I hear you plan to go to the Wall as well. Perhaps you can tag along with me. It surely make the journey more interesting with us sharing tales along the way." The dwarf offered.

Geralt thought for a moment. "Maybe. Haven't decided when or if I should go yet."

"I know I'll be heading up there once the King plans to leave." Jon quickly remarked. "Planning to join the Watch, work my up to being a Ranger."

The Lannister chuckled, shaking his head at Jon's plans. "Ah boy…you are making a rash choice there." Tyrion remarked.

"I've thought hard on this choice! Uncle says I'd fit in well at Castle Black." Jon argued back.

The dwarf chuckled at the remark as he'd stir mug about in one hand. "Matters if you enjoy the company of criminals and cowards. Trust me, you're better off here or seeing the world like me before giving up your freedom there."

Jon was silent on the matter as he'd sip at his ale, no doubt wondering why so many people kept warning him away from joining the Watch.

Smirking and shaking his head, Geralt looked over the party to see that Robert was about the crowds…and currently fondling up a comely servant girl gleefully. Just a glance at the main table and he could tell Cersei was not amused considering the cold look she had.

However Robert stopped his toying before noticing Geralt looked at him. "White haired one! Gah right, Geralt!" The King loudly called out. "Time we had that talk yes?"

Everyone at the table looked at Geralt, surprised at the King's request. The Witcher shrugged as he'd set his mug down and give a short wave to the group. "The majesty calls."

"Try to be respectful. From what I heard, Robert can have quite the temper." Tyrion warned before chatting with Graffin, seeming curious to know the full story of the soldier's first meeting with the Witcher.

"Best not keep the King waiting." Jon added, patting Geralt on the back. "And don't worry, not planning to run off while you away."

Geralt nodded before he'd leave the table and head towards Robert who shifted off from the crowded area to a more open spot off to the side. The large man found a loose chair to sit down, giving a sigh as he'd stretch out before taking a deep gulp from a large goblet.

"Ned told me a bit more about you. How you're some warrior monk type from far beyond the seas, chasing the future empresses for some empire, if I'm correct?" The man bluntly asked.

Geralt moved to lean back against a nearby pillar, giving a small shrug at the King's answer. "In simpler terms…yah pretty much."

"Heh I always prefer it that way, if you'll forgive me." Robert chuckled with a big grin. "Soldier's life does that to you. Never been one for formal matters that kingship shoves onto you." Yet he'd shake his head and give a small frown. "Bah but I'm focusing on me. Let's talk about you Geralt. I know you wish for my help to find your missing adopted daughter? You claim she perhaps beyond the Wall right?"

Geralt simply nodded. "Yes. It's my best guess that is where she'd be."

"Must be crazy or brave to go off there alone. Care to tell me why she'd do that?" Robert questioned.

"It's complicated."

"If you mean prophecies and fate…" Robert started, making Geralt give a surprised look. "Don't be take me for a fool Geralt. When I asked Ned he told me much about this Ciri. I'm not one to believe in such things…then again I never believed I'd be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms." He'd chuckle at the title, yet there seemed something…off with the tone. "So what do you want?"

"Resources and men to go beyond the Wall. Been studying the known maps and already have a chart of an expedition to follow. Should lead me to her or at least find her trail." Geralt calmly stated.

"Already quite prepared it seems…"The King muttered as he'd have one hand tap lightly at his goblet. "You seem to think we'd already be at an agreement. You may have done my kingdom a service, yet

Geralt's eyes narrowed sternly, yet Robert didn't flitch at the intimidating stare. "You're making a mistake." The Witcher started before the king spoke up again.

"And you think you can make demands from me." The man said sternly. "You're asking me to commit a fortune's worth on a suicidal mission to find a girl who may very well be dead. I understand your desperation Geralt, yet no but the Wildlings can survive beyond the Wall."

"Ciri's endured worse." The Witcher argued. "Yet leaving her alone endangers all, both your land and mine."

"That's another thing. I have to go off your word! I'm not a man of superstition as I said, so excuse me if I find this 'White Frost' that Ned described to be exaggerated at best." Robert pointed out sternly, yet he'd quickly compose himself. "That aside though, I like you because of your bluntness since few men are brave enough to do so. I respect you because you defended my lands from raiders from beyond the Wall. Yet trust is something you must personally earn." He'd clench one hand tightly, striking it at the arm rest of the chair. "So that is why I have an offer to make for you."

"Offer?" Geralt questioned.

"Recent events at King's Landing has many people tense. My Hand is dead and Ned is to be my replacement. He's the only man I truly trust, yet I can't rely on just him." He'd sip from his goblet, giving a refreshed sigh tasting the fine wine. "Yet you Geralt…I've never seen Ned supportive to anyone, much less an outsider like yourself. I can even tell that his family looks up to you…well…except Cat, yet the woman is tough to win over."

"And your point sire?"

"It's simple. Come with us to King's Land and serve alongside Eddard. Despite how the Seven Kingdoms look, there is a storm of conflict brewing. I can't share what may come…yet it could lead to war." Robert's eyes had a fierce gleam in them, almost an eagerness at the mention of conflict. "Dueling the Hound shows you're a masterful warrior and from what Luwin has told me you're as wise as any Maester. A rare and useful mix of skills, one that I can rely on."

Useful. Geralt hated when people said that about him. Made him feel like he was some tool. "So what are you offering then? Be you're enforcer and in exchange earn the support I need for my expedition?"

"Nah...I'm thinking possibly knighthood." The King boldly declared, making Geralt give a surprised look. "Hahah, surprised you there! I take past kings never offered such an opportunity?"

"I was in fact knighted once did by the queen of Rivia when I stepped in during a major battle. Although…I'm no longer under her service after certain circumstances." Geralt explained.

"Interesting…you'll have to share that tale another time." Robert muttered with a small nod before looking back at the Witcher. "Yet I'm not jesting with you Geralt. Come serve at my court in King's Landing and earn my full trust. In due time I'll can provide everything you'll need to go on your expedition beyond the wall."

Geralt silently studied the King, trying to get idea of his intentions. Yet the man's gaze was steadfast, stubbornly hiding any inner emotions. "Wouldn't the Lannister's and other nobility take issue with you accepting a low born sell sword to your court?" The Witcher questioned.

"Hah! If anything my extended family are interested in you. They may be stuck up at times, yet they know when an even a low born has worth. The Hound and his family are an example of that. Also fuck what the rest of the nobility think! I'm the damn King and I decide who's worth serving me or not!" The fat king laughed out.

It was hard to deny that Robert cared little for tradition on this matter, hinting how the man favored talent over noble standing. It was obvious he wanted him as an ally, a wild card for whatever events were playing out in the continent's capital. "I'm not one to get involved in politics and intrigue. It has never worked well for me."

"I understand your hesitation Geralt. Yet I'm a patient man, so no need for you to accept my offer now." Robert quickly answered back. "Just think this over. After all, allying with me can do more then find your lost daughter. Think of the power and wealth you can gain as well."

Geralt was silent, hands clenching slightly at how the man was trying to bribe him at this point. He hated how men like him thought gold and status could win him over. Yet he'd calm him, holding back any spiteful words before speaking back. "I'll think about it my lord." He said, voice calm yet having a cold hint to it, one which Robert noted.

By that point the king would stand up fully from his seat, showing off just how tall he was as he stared eye to eye with Geralt. "I'd like your answer within the week. By that point we will be leaving for the capital." He'd hold out one large hand, not breaking the deadlock stare with the Witcher. "Consider my offer well. It's one that is not lightly refused."

Geralt looked to the king's hand before grasping it, Robert's grip becoming iron strong as the two shook. Despite being overweight, the man had a shocking hidden strength about him. Yet Geralt didn't yield, his own grasp matching up to the king's. "Enjoy the feast King Robert. I think I've had my fill for tonight." At last the two let go of each other's hand before the Witcher gave a short nod to the king. Turning about, he walked away through the crowd. Jon and Tyrion saw him hurry by, even calling out to him, yet Geralt ignored the two as he left the hall.

Robert growled lowly as he flexed his hand, feeling the soreness left from their short grapple. "Just as stubborn as Ned." He muttered, his frown turning to a small smirk before he'd head back to rejoin the feast. He still had that servant girl on his mind and he had no plans on letting her slip away!

…

Outside, Geralt moved back for his room, thinking deeply over tonight's events. In the end it came down to a simple aspect…everyone wanted to use him for their own ends. Joffrey saw him as some gladiator to amuse him. Ned saw him as a sympathetic man willing to help for an honorable cause. King Robert saw him as a tool to further whatever political plans he had in mind.

"Different world…same selfish motives." Geralt muttered to himself as he'd stop at the small yard before the Great Hall. Taking a deep breath of cold fresh air to clear his head, he'd clear someone approaching him from behind, making him glance about.

"You…Did the King send you to double his offer?" Geralt offered, making the blond haired man chuckle out in amusement.

"No, although I now wonder what he did try to buy you off with now that you mentioned it." Jaime Lannister asked in a jesting manner. "The King is known for throwing quite the lavish gifts to win over even the most troublesome of people."

Jaime wasn't in his King's Guard armor, wearing instead fine tanned leather and gold threaded outfit, a quite dashing one considering its custom design. "I see you and Robert chatted at long last. From the way he looked you must have angered him as well." The dashing royal guard said in a formal yet friendly manner.

"I do that often to everyone. Kings, nobles and their fancy guards." Geralt muttered back as he moved for the gate door.

The Lannister laughed out at how Geralt rudely dismissed him, yet didn't back down. "My…they weren't joking about you. Old wolf is a fitting title considering those gruff manners." Jaime chuckled, much to the Witcher's annoyance.

"Old Wolf?" Geralt grumbled, wondering who came up with the name. "Pretty boring name considering."

"I fitting nickname though. Scarred face, white hair and those strange eyes…very wolfish. Even the way you fight matches. Fast yet fierce." Jaime remarked, although his tone had a hint of respect mentioning how Geralt fought. "Still didn't stop you from taking a beating from what I saw."

"Match was a draw last I checked. Had Sandor on his ass in the end." Geralt remarked back.

Jaime nodded his head in agreement. "Ah yes you did…though people say you cheated." He'd pace around to be in front of the Witcher, getting between him and the gate out. "Everyone baffled at how you knocked him down with little more than one hand. Man is nearly seven feet tall after all and decked in heavy armor. Bet it take Robert in his prime to knock him down with a single strike to the chest."

Geralt shrugged, keeping that cold stare towards the Lannister. "Maybe I just spooked him, made him over reacted and just trip over himself." He simply stated back.

"Possible." Jaime said, yet witty hinted in those eyes showed his doubt as he'd step closer, although Geralt didn't back off. "Yet perhaps when you're cornered like that again you may just be desperate enough to try that move again." The Lannister have one hand reach forward to give a mocking prod at Geralt's chest…a big mistake.

At this point the Witcher's considerable patience was thin as his right hand moved lightning fast, grabbing Jaime's wrist roughly. The knight's expression quickly shifted from confident to tense as he locked gazes with Geralt, seeing frustration in them. If anything his gaze showed true shock, unsure how Geralt had moved so fast in just the blink of an eye.

"Don't you have a half drunk king to babysit? Last I checked he was fondling some girl right in front of his dear wife." Geralt remarked, voice low and almost growl like while his grip loosened slightly after a long moment.

Jaime was silent for a long moment before he'd force his arm back to free himself from the Witcher, rubbing at the sore spot and flexing his hand. "You have a point. Rather not have the King embarrass himself in front of everyone, especially my sister." He calmly stated before walking around the Witcher and back towards the Great Hall to rejoin the feast. "Enjoy your rest Witcher. Remember that I'll be keeping an eye on you." He added before entering the bustling hall.

"Smug bastard…" Geralt muttered to himself. If anything he'd have to watch on for that one. While overconfident like Theon, Jaime obviously had a sharp eye to have noticed Geralt using a Sign in close quarters. Last he needed was someone learning about the magical skills he had been keeping hidden. Returning Guest House and to his room, Geralt drop onto the large bed, sighing as the ale and bothersome conversations lingered in his head made his head throb. "Guh…now I remember why I hate feasts and parties." With that said, he'd shift to reach for his pack.

Normally he saved White Honey when he over used his more toxic potions, yet he always found a light sip of the stuff to be a potent hangover cure. The sweet mixture didn't mix well with the alcohol aftertaste, yet swallowing it down clearing the burning feeling in his throat and settling his stomach. Sighing, he'd shift to lay on his back before closing his eyes, trying to shut out the pestering thoughts that filled his mind.

 **Notice: A shorter chapter, yet I feel it is needed considering. Have no worries though another chapter will be coming out this week, maybe even the same day as this chapter! Overall I hope you liked Geralt's first real chat with Robert and Jaime. Please share your reactions and thoughts be it through review or PMs!**


	8. S1-E7: Broken Things

Chapter 7: Broken Things

Geralt slept in, waking up late morning as he heard the sound of horses being readied. Getting out of bed and changing clothes, he'd head outside to see Robert along with the Ned, Robb and Theon all on horseback. Eddard saw the Witcher, waving him over to him.

"Rest well?" He asked, making Geralt nod and sigh.

"Yah…hope my sudden disappearance wasn't an issue." He muttered back.

"Heh, Robert seemed frustrated with you after your discussion. Rambled on a good while about you mistrusting his generosity." Ned added in a hush voice.

"Your friend tried to bribe me with knighthood in exchange for my services." Geralt quickly informed Ned, making him blink in surprise.

"Wait…he seriously did that?" The Northern Lord muttered while Geralt shrugged slightly. "He mentioned that in the crypts yet I thought he was bloody joking."

"You sound unamused." Geralt questioned back.

"In a way yes. Then again I should have expected Robert to do such a thing." Sighing, he'd look to the King who was nearing the group. "I'll talk to him again. Try to reason with him and clear things up."

"My answer is going to be no still." The Witcher calmly stated.

"I guessed that. Just don't want him debating on throwing you in a jail cell for insulting his generosity." Shaking his head, Ned look back at Geralt. "Just try to stay out of trouble today alright? I heard about the Hound and I'd rather not see a grudge match happen while I'm off hunting."

"Tell that to Joffrey. The royal prince set that up." Geralt argued back.

"Ugh…another matter to discus with the King." Ned grumbled under his breath. "Again just try to have a normal day. No sparring lessons with anyone." He'd shift his mount about, moving slightly towards Robert who was busy talking to Robb. "Although Geralt…thank you for getting Jon come to the fest. I know Catelyn is critical about him…"

"If anything you should apologize to him. You're his father after all yet you didn't try to have him take part." Geralt calmly spoke back, yet the words had Eddard grip his reins tightly.

"I know Geralt. Reminding me doesn't make that shame any less easy for me." Ned muttered, before riding off to the group. He and the King began to talk on some important matter before heading out. Eddard would pause though to wave to Bran who watched the hunting party leave. Once the group had left, Bran hurried over to Geralt, his young dire wolf following close behind.

"Wish father could have let me come along. I'm old enough to ride after all." The young boy muttered.

"Boar hunting is a dangerous thing to do. Besides doubt you could hold a long spear properly with your height." Geralt remarked back, making Bran frown before seeing the Witcher's toying smirk.

"Yet I have a dead eye shot with the crossbow! Can we shoot a bit at least…or maybe more sword lessons?" Bran quickly asked.

"Sadly can't. Your father doesn't want me drawing attention after yesterday." He said, making Bran give a disappointed look. "Maybe tomorrow or a few days later once things have settled down."

"Fine. I guess I'll go for a walk around the keep…" Bran muttered, before petting his dire wolf's head.

"Plan to go climbing again?" Geralt questioned, making Bran gulp nervously. "Don't worry, not going to tell your mother. Focus on low climbing spots and safe hand holds. Besides that stay safe." Brushing up Bran's hair, the boy chuckled and nodded, hurrying off out of the castle gates and for the outer grounds of the Hold.

Not long after, a familiar voice spoke up from across the yard. "Geralt! Why did you run off like that last night?"

Looking back it was Jon, who looked a bit ruffled up as if having just woken up, no doubt woozy after drink. From what the Witcher remembered, Graffin and Tyrion had the group on a drinking contest, one which Jon didn't last long in.

"Had a small disagreement with the King. Decided it be better to retire early before letting tempers flare." He quickly explained to the young man.

"Wait…you ARGUED with King Robert?" Jon remarked, open shock hinted in his voice.

"Not the first King I've bothered nor the last." The Witcher casually remarked much to Jon's surprise.

"Ughh…I'll pretend I didn't hear that and just…blame the headache for mishearing." The Stark muttered as he rub the sides of his head while Geralt smirked in amusement.

"So what about Tyrion? Lost count on how many mugs he had downed. Sure can handle his drinks for such a small man." Geralt asked once Jon had recovered from his short headache.

"Well…can't remember where he went afterwards. Saw him going along the yard with the last bottle we had." Jon muttered after thinking for a moment.

"Right then…so we should start at the Great Hall yard gate. Come along then."

"Wait what…why?" Jon questioned, confused at what Geralt was doing. "I'm sure Tyrion is fine. Maybe he stumbled back to his room in the end or…something."

"Maybe. Still, rather not have him passed out naked in some corner of the yard. Be embarrassing for the rest of our guests if he's found that way." The Witcher explained to Jon as they'd move across the yard and to the wall that separated the main court yard to the Great Hall yard.

"Alright fair point…yet how are you going to find one man's trail among…" Jon paused as he'd realize the mess of foot prints in the soft dirt and light mud. "…among all this. Must be dozens of people who passed through here last night."

Geralt kept that casual demeanor as he'd pace around the mess of footprints. "Trick is finding the one that stands out. Lucky our query is one of a kind among everyone." He'd focus his sharp senses as he'd crouch low, yellow eyes quickly scanning each foot print as he judged their size, shape and the distance of each step. Next he traced their direction as he began to thin out the number of paths.

"You're right on that, yet it will take hours to trace one small set of feet among so many." Jon remarked, making Geralt look up at him.

"Do you always get this whiney when hungover?" Geralt joked, making Jon give an annoyed look before smirking. "Anyway, sword lessons maybe over. Time I show you how to track. So get over here."

Jon was hesitant yet he'd move beside the Witcher and he'd crouch beside the white haired man, pausing to look over the mess of foot prints. "Alright…so…what now?"

"Well for one you don't have Witcher eyes." He'd tap the side of his head to remind Jon of his cat like eyes. "These aren't just for show. My sight is twice good than a normal man's and even see in low light. However even someone like you can see what I see if they look correctly." Pausing, he'd look back at the prints. "So then…looking for a man with half shoe sizes, short step and smooth sole print. Use those details to your advantage."

Jon was silent as he'd look closely, seemed unsure for a long while yet suddenly noticed something. Shifting, he'd touch over one smaller print that was partly hidden among the larger ones. Slowly he'd began to follow them, starting off slowly yet soon standing up to follow a more solid trail. The two began to zigzag around the yard, showing Tyrion's haphazard trip towards the stables. In the end, the two neared the kennels were the dogs slept and just nearing the pen they could hear snoring behind the board fencing.

Both Jon and Geralt moved in close, peeking over the short fence to find Tyrion, thankfully clothed, passed out among a bunch of dozing hounds. They looked at each other, baffled and amused at the sight as the dwarf scratched his face in his sleep, grumbling a bit as he did so.

"Water?" Jon remarked with a smirk.

"Water." Geralt answered in agreement as he'd find a clean bucket nearby and move over to a nearby water barrel to fill it up. Soon he'd splash it out at the sleeping dwarf and hounds, the canines yelping in shock from the splash, making them squirm away while the dwarf gasped out.

"Gah! Not storm season already!" He groaned as he'd spit out water out of his mouth and rub his face, blinking rapidly as he started to get an idea of his surroundings. Looking up at Geralt and Jon, noticing the bucket in hand, he'd give an annoyed look as he'd stagger up onto his feet. "That is a cruel…joke you know sir Witcher." He muttered as he'd brace against the fence for support.

"Could give you another douse to help with the smell." Geralt teased, making Tyrion roll his eyes yet smirk in amusement.

"I'll pass on that thank you very much." With a bit of effort, he'd climb over the fence, nearly falling over yet landing on his feet, even giving a small opened armed gesture as if finishing a performance. Jon in good humor gave a short clap.

"Can we expect backflips and cartwheels next?" He chuckled was Tyrion moved up to the two.

"Still working on that act I'm afraid. Anyway care to explain why you two decided to interrupt my beauty sleep?" The dwarf questioned before giving a small yawn and stiff stretch.

"Not polite to leave a drinking companion alone. Besides felt I needed to apologize for running off last night." Geralt explained to the short Lannister.

"Well considering how miffed you made Robert, I say it was worth it. Never seen the King so frustrated and lively like that. Think he was debating giving you a medal for bravery…or to have you flogged for disrespecting him." Tyrion remarked back.

"Charming…" Geralt muttered, guessing his chat had the King more bothered then expected. "Also ran into your brother when I was leaving last night."

"Ah yes dear Jaime. Far more likeable then my sister, at least from my point of view. Let me guess, challenge you to a fight?" It wasn't hard for the dwarf to know the answer from Geralt dead set stare. "Right…guess some explaining then." Glancing around, he'd see a bench nearby and hurried over to sit, almost tumbling onto his back. Geralt and Jon followed, yet decided to remain standing as the dwarf lodged back.

"Now you may have heard plenty of stories about my good brother. How he rose up from an aspiring page, trained under the fine care of master swordsman Barristan, commander of the King's Guard. He's skill at the joust is among the best in the land and he's a fury when it comes to the melee." Tyrion explained. "Overall Sandor's has been his latest opponent when it came to battles, yet he's gained the edge over the Hound. As for the Mountain well…the Mountain is another matter."

"The point Tyrion. I get it…your brother enjoys fighting." Geralt grumbled.

"Yes. It's what drives him really. Thing is Eddard has been on his list of people he wishes to duel, mainly because the Warden of the North has the claim of slaying Arthur Dayne during the Rebellion. Sir Arthur was Jaime's idol…so you get the idea." Tyrion then paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Then YOU show up. When the raven came telling of a strange white haired man with twin blades…well…I saw the excitement in my brother's eyes. Hearing how you battled a dozen savages single handed must have brought up old memories of Arthur who always battle outnumbered odds in many battles."

"So wait…you're saying that he sees me as some replacement for Dayne? A man who's be dead for nearly twenty years." Geralt questioned.

The dwarf gave a half nod and shrug. "You're skills seem to match the legendary knight…Eh thought you lack Dayne's dashing looks…"

Geralt's gaze narrowed as he swore he was getting tired about the 'lack of looks' remark.

"…no offense." Tyrion finished. "Point is he sees you as a chance to face his idol. Already he's been listening to every rumor about you and no doubt will be trying to study the way you fight. He'll size you up, learn your strengths and weaknesses before then crushing you…eh…possibly."

"Explain his pushy nature. Wanted to test my temperament…and my reaction. Guess I surprised him considering." Geralt muttered.

"I'd not be too certain. The more one rivals against him the more serious he'll get and when he's serious can become quite deadly." Tyrion remarked in a concerning manner. By now the dwarf shift off his seat, seeming to be mostly recovered by now. "Overall I tell you this as a warning. Don't challenge Jaime."

"Don't plan to…more worried he'll force me into a fight somehow." Geralt remarked back.

The dwarf just shook his head as he'd pace by the Witcher and Jon, his direction towards the Great Hall again. "Anyway while I enjoy chatting I feel I'm in need of a little breakfast."

"It's nearly lunch time by my guess." Jon piped in.

"Then brunch then!" Tyrion quickly answered back as he'd already be headed off on his own

Jon and Geralt looked to each other, unsure what to make of the eccentric Lannister. "So what do you think about what he said Jon?" The Witcher asked the young man.

"Can't say for sure. I've heard of Jaime's many tournament accomplishments and the stories about the Mad King. Man seems like a natural talent seeking that 'dragon' to slay." Jon answered back.

"Wonderful…" Geralt sighed as he'd pace around a bit, already trying to figure out a solution to this new annoyance. "Any plans for today?" He'd ask Jon.

"Have a few studies to finish along with some chores. Besides that nothing else by evening time."

Thinking for a moment, Geralt sighed as he realized he'd have little ease to do today. "Maybe I'll leave the keep for a bit. Go on a long walk to avoid everyone trying to bargain or fight with me. Just back home…same problems."

"These kind of things happen to you all the time before you came here?" Jon questioned curiously.

"Not important. Overall I've dealed with worse." Pausing for a moment, he quickly remembered one last thing. "By the way. Good work finding the right trail. Didn't expect you to get it on the first try."

"Oh…umm…thanks." Jon muttered, a bit off guard on the compliment. "Anyway should get to my chores. See you later Geralt."

Nodding, the Witcher watched Jon hurry off across the yard to talk to some of the workers. Now on his own, Geralt sighed as he'd think over what he could do until hunting party returned in the evening. After a moment of thinking, he decided to go check up at the black smith to see how Bran's crossbow was going. He was certain it be finished by now. The smithy was close by the kenals and from the sound of it, the blacksmith was already at work hammering away at something.

Nearing the small building, he'd hang back when he heard a gruff voice speak out. "You can fix the armor right? Got it dented up after yesterday." Sandor asked the bearded blacksmith. The tall warrior wasn't in the same armor as before, having changed into a lighter set of chain and metal armor with leather under it all.

"O-Of course. Doesn't seem serious so I can have it fixed up by tomorrow." The blacksmith quickly remarked, obviously nervous with the scarred man.

"Good." The Hound turned about yet stopped as he realized Geralt was standing close by. His eyes narrowed, his right eye almost closed because of the burn scars. "Ugh…you again. What do you want?"

"Checking up an order, that's all." Geralt simply answered back.

Sandor gave a grunt of disinterest as he'd move closer towards Geralt, who didn't move an inch back from the intimidating warrior. Up close his sharp nose could smell alcohol coming off the man, explain his gruff speech and heavy step to keep balance.

"So what is you big plan huh? Why are you sticking with the Starks?" The man asked gruffly. "Not exactly the wealthiest family among the Kingdoms, especially compared to the Lannister's. They have a good reputation yet too stuck on it from what I can tell. Have a lot of land…that is if you don't mind forests and snow.

At that point Geralt realized what Sandor was getting at, making him frown slightly at the man. "If you're saying I'm here for personal gain, you're wrong." He'd remark back. "The Starks took me in after my encounter with the Wildlings. They could have sent me on my way after questioning me, yet they let me stay. Even offered to help me find my missing daughter. Besides that they've also shown me more respect and kindness then most back home."

Sandor laughed quite loudly at Geralt's answer, shaking his head in amusement. "So you're here because of gratitude? Heh…quite the softy for such a fierce fighter." The man remarked back even as Geralt's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "The Lannister's earned my loyalty by making something out of my family. As for Robert I respect him for his efforts during the Rebellion. Yet you…" He'd look right at Geralt, smirking slightly. "…you'll just cling to anyone who shows you a hint of kindness. They'll drag you down in the end when times get tough. That is the price you pay when you make friends of others." Pausing, he'd saw how Geralt's expression not weaving, making him grunt and wave a gauntleted hand about. "Just the advice 'friend'. Overall I recommend you move on from here while you have the chance."

"Noted…now will you move aside?" Geralt calmly muttered. In the end, the Hound grunted as he'd shift by Geralt and walk across the yard for the Great Keep, no doubt to watch over the bothersome prince. His attention focused to the blacksmith, who seemed quite baffled that the Witcher had talked down the Hound with such ease. "So how is the crossbow doing? Is it ready?" The Witcher asked casually, making the man snap to attention and nod.

"Yes indeed! Followed the instructions to the mark. Used the best materials we have so it will be more durable as well." The man remarked before picking out the one-handed crossbow from the workbench, offering up for Geralt to inspect. Taking the weapon, he'd examine it over closely to ensure it was in working order and good quality.

"Draw seems strong…flexible and easy to pull…" He muttered as he'd test it out. "Quite well done."

The man nodded, giving a small smile from the compliment. "Give my regards to Bran. I'm sure he will put it to good use."

The two shook hands before Geralt departed, heading back for his room to get the last part of Bran's gift ready along with relax for a good while.

…

As the afternoon began to creep in, Geralt gathered up Bran's crossbow along with the leather bolt quiver had he also ordered, a small yet flexible holder which even had the Stark house symbol on it. Yet as he got the holder filled with extra bolts, there be a sudden knock at his door.

"Come in." He spoke out, the door opening to show it was lady Catelyn and Sir Rodrik. The woman had a worried look in her eyes, something he hadn't seen from her. The Master-at-Arms seemed tense, yet calm overall.

"Geralt. There is a matter that I need your help with." Catelyn asked in a calm manner. "It's about Bran…"

Curious, he'd turn to look at the woman. "What do you mean? Last I saw him, he was off exploring the grounds just outside the walls."

"Wait…you let him go off beyond the walls alone?" Catelyn asked in surprise, a hint of anger in her tone.

"He has Summer with him. The dire wolf maybe young, but it's big enough to guard him while he explores the grounds." Geralt assured her. "Besides, he can be too far off from the keep's walls."

Despite her frustration, Catelyn composed herself from snapping out at the Witcher. "Then I take you'll go off to find him. He's been gone for hours and I'd like him home for when his father returns from the boar hunt." Her tone of voice made her request sound more like an order, despite the formalness.

"Alright. I can understand that." He'd put Bran's crossbow and quiver aside before looking for Sir Rodrik. "I haven't been outside the keep too much. Any unique landmarks or areas that Bran may have gone to?"

"Aye. I have a few worth seeing. The area around Winterfell did have extra fortifications from past generations. Watch towers, walls and minor buildings. Good few are still around yet been neglected for a long time." The Master-at-Arms answered back.

Geralt nodded, before grabbing his swords, which made Catelyn nervous for a moment. "Sounds like a lot of ground to cover. Get a few horses while I gather some of the men. Think Jon and some of the guards should be finished with their duties for now."

"Good idea Witcher." The knight said with a nod before he'd move to leave, waiting for Catelyn to follow. The noble woman, did show a hint of dislike at the mention of Jon being part of the search party yet she didn't speak out against it.

"Thank you Geralt. Please have Bran back soon." With that she'd leave the room while Geralt finished getting his gear sorted out. Heading outside, he'd see that Jon was chatting with Graffin and the other guards who had finished sorting through the armory for the day. The group quickly noticed him approach the group and cut the chatter down.

"Hey there Geralt." Graffin spoke out, waving slightly while the Witcher gave a small nod to him.

"Didn't expect you out and about so soon." Jon remarked. "Still going on that ride around the grounds like we planned?"

"Small changes of plans on that. Lady Catelyn asked me to look for Bran. He hasn't come back since the late morning and she's worried." Geralt quickly explained. "Good chance to practice your tracking some more. Larger area like the grounds be fitting for that."

"Sure that's a good idea? Bran is missing after all." Jon questioned.

"I'm sure he's fine. Doubt an animal could bother him when Summer is around him and he has a dagger last I checked. I doubt there are hardened criminals sneaking around the plains of Winterfell." Geralt reassured Jon before looking to Graffin. "Can you and some of the men come along?"

"Sure! Sort of our job to protect the Stark's after all." The soldier chuckled before nodding to two of his fellow men.

By this point Rodrik arrived with horses for the group. They quickly split into groups with Jon paired with Geralt, Rodrik with one of the soldier and Graffin with the other soldier. They'd ride out of the main gate of Winterfell before splitting up to cover a different area around the vast castle. Geralt's group to the north, Graffin to the south and Rodrik to the east. Geralt and Graffin agreed to meet in the western area if they found nothing in their sections.

Jon and Geralt rode for a while, going at a slow place as the two looked across the vast plains. The Witcher's sharp eyes glanced around the grassy ground, noticing for any hint of a trail Bran or Summer could have left. Yet after a while Jon spoke up to get his attention.

"So how did you get so good at tracking?" He questioned.

"Experience and a damn good teacher. Most of the things I hunt can be quite mobile and sneaky. People however are a mix bag, yet there are always clues to follow if you know you who're following." Geralt answered back.

"Makes sense…yet what are we even looking for? This isn't the yard after all and we got miles of plains to cover." Jon added.

At this point Geralt slowed his horse to a stop and looked to Jon. "Alright point taken. First off we know Bran can't have gone too far on foot, at least a mile or two to be in range of Winterfell. Also think back what did I said to you back when we looked for Tyrion."

"His size, being drunk and other details. Made it easier to figure…" At that point Jon quickly realized what Geralt was meaning and shake his head. "Of course. Bran's trail stand out to anyone else's!" Already the young man shifted on his saddle to look at the distant gate of Winterfell then the surrounding plains. Jon was silent as he'd move his horse slightly about, eyes focused to the ground while Geralt hanged back and followed to not get in Jon's way. After a while, Jon would stop and suddenly drop off his saddle, moving over to a more exposed patch of wet soil among the grass.

"Got something." He muttered as Geralt joined him, letting him see the small boot prints and canine marks on the ground.

"Sharp eye." Geralt remarked yet Jon was focused as he'd look to the northwest, scanning the hilly horizon. There were ruins in the distance, a sizable tower with a collapsing wall next to it. No doubt the two structures had once made a border of Winterfell's territory.

"Knowing Bran, he'd go off there. Lady Catelyn hates how he climbs around the keep, so make sense he'd go practice and explore there." Jon deducted.

"Logical deduction. Let's hope you're right." Geralt remarked as the two mounted up and rode off to the distant structure at a casual pace. After a while though Jon again spoke up.

"So Benjen said I could join the Watch. I talked to him last night and he said father would let me to join." Jon suddenly revealed.

Geralt looked at him, a questioning look in his yellow eyes. "Didn't we talk about this? Rushing off to join the Watch isn't a smart move. Also you seem to forget it's not the orderly group it use to be like in the tales and history books."

"I know…Tyrion jested about it…and then I questioned Benjen about the fact criminals make up most of the Watchers." Jon was silent for a moment. "He told me it was all true, even told me how in a few days he was going to the next convoy from the capital with a new host of 'recruits'." Jon gripped his reins more tightly in frustration. "Thing is I'm not mad about that though, it's the fact that my father never thought to tell me this himself."

Geralt was silent for a long moment. "Because no parent wants to crush their children's aspirations. It's the same for those who dream growing up to become a knight or soldier. Often the role isn't what it seemed to be and is often lacking."

"Yet he was misleading me!" Jon snapped back. "And I question why…maybe he wanted me eager to run off to join just to please Catelyn. Maybe deep down he's always resents me and just been that good at hiding it."

However Geralt spoke up after that last remark. "Bullshit." Jon looked at the Witcher with a confused look. "I don't agree with your father on every matter. Heck this morning I questioned him for not personally including at the King's feast. His reaction was frustration and shame for not doing so. He hated the fact he didn't try." Riding closer beside Jon, he'd continue. "Eddard is a good man yet in the end he has to follow the expectations others place on him, be it the other nobility or his wife."

Jon was silent yet would speak up in the end. "You are right about it. In the end he has no little choice because I'm his bastard." He calmly spoke back. "Despite it all…I still feel that Wall is my best choice."

"Yet you can't-" Geralt started yet stopped as they neared the tower. His sharp ears heard familiar barking and howls. He'd focus his gaze at the base of the mainly at a set of rubble below it where he saw the young direwolf circling around. "No." He'd suddenly kick his horse into a full sprint, Jon being surprised by the Witcher's reaction before seeing it too.

"Oh gods…" Jon muttered as he chased after.

Geralt slowed his horse, leaping off before hurrying to the rubble where Bran laid dead still. Quickly he had one hand at the boy's neck while leaning his head close to his face. He'd feel a weak heartbeat and hear the shallow breath escape from the boy's lips. "He's alive!" Geralt called out to Jon as the young man hurried beside his fallen brother.

"How…what the hell happened?" Jon asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

Geralt checked over the boy, noting how blood was pooling only from the back, hinting a major injury there. "Can't be sure without examining the area and his injuries. Right now he's bleeding badly right now…can't imagine in internal injuryies." Pausing, he'd look at Jon. "Your cloak. Give it to me. We're going to wrap him up and you're going to take him back to Winterfell."

Jon started to, yet he'd realize Geralt was more experienced in this matter. The Witcher showed no panic or fear, only focused on the task at hand. Getting his black cloak off, Jon crouched down while Geralt carefully lifting Bran up. Blood soaked his hand just touching at the boy's back, feeling the mark of the injury started at the lower spine. Getting the cloak around him, he'd carry the boy towards Jon's horse while the young man mounted up.

"Take him. Keep pressure on the wound and hold him close. Ride on the nearest trail and keep the horse steady. When you see any guard you tell them to get Rodrick. You understand?" Geralt calmly instructed. Meanwhile Summer moved up to Geralt, whining as she looked between him and his wounded master. "Follow them back boy. Keep an eye on Bran." Geralt softly ordered. The dire wolf barked, understand before looking to Jon, pacing around his horse as he was ready to follow along.

"I'll get there as fast as possible. Good luck finding out what happened here Geralt." Jon answered back, composing himself after a moment.

Nodding, Geralt watched Jon move his horse ride out at a brisk pace for Winterfell. Watching them for a long moment, his attention shifted to the bloody rubble Bran had been on. "Time to work." He muttered to himself as he'd crouch low to examine the area. "Blood splatter matches for a fall, yet not from tripping." He muttered as he noticed the impact spot being a jutting piece of stone in the center of the rubble pile. "More fitting for a high fall, explain the focus point too."

His gaze looked up to the ruined tower, noting the viable heights that could explain the landing spot. "Should go up there. Get an idea of where the fall happened and what caused it." Moving around the tower, he'd find the entrance yet slowly drew his steel sword. If this had been an attack he had to be sure no one was waiting to ambush him within the ruin. Being light with his step, he'd be careful where he stepped, not wanting to ruin any foot prints in the dirt and dust. His sharp eyes focused on the ground as he'd note two sets of fresh foot prints.

"Huh...boot prints and ladies shoes. A couple? Two tracks as well leading in and out." He muttered curiously. Pacing towards the stairs, he'd move up to the higher floors until reaching the top floor the damaged stairs reached. The area seemed clear, letting him relax as he'd sheath his blade once more. "Foot prints leads up here." Following it along he'd see that it ended at the corner of the room.

"Seems they cleared this spot. Set something down too, cloak or blanket..." However he'd notice how the dust was spread about, giving him ideas why the cloth had been set down. "Heh…no doubt some lovers came here for some privacy. Place is far away enough to be secluded." He'd catch an odd scent near the spot though, something flowery. "Perfume? Not something a commoner girl would have. Maybe a courtier or noble?" His attention moved to the nearby opening in the wall, a window that widened from the tower's neglect. Moving towards it, he'd notice bare foot prints on the ground, fitting for a man's when considering the size and shape.

"Now why did you move there for suddenly?" He'd see the prints end at the rubble window which he'd gaze out from. Looking down he'd see the spot Bran had fallen onto, the height matching for the place right where the window opening was. Stepping out carefully to the ledge, he'd notice the loosened stone where the fall happened, mainly on the edge and on the very side of the opening. Focusing he'd see the faint marks of nail scratching and hand print from lingering dust. "Lost his grip or balance…or trying to keep hold?" Looking back at the foot prints he already questioned what was going on here.

"Alright time to review…" Pacing back towards the blanket spot, he'd think for a moment. "A couple sneaks off here while Bran arrives unknowing. He climbs up the tower yet hears something, voice or moaning I'd guess." Looking to the window, he'd continue. "Climbs closer and peeks in, seeing the couple in the middle of the act. Could be he was surprised and lost his grip. Couple hears the yell and fall, man comes to check which explains the prints by the window. Still…doesn't explain why they didn't go for help or take him away. Winterfell isn't far after all." Pausing though, he'd think over the details.

"Other possibility. Other is Bran see's the couple and his noticed. Man quickly reacts and grabs him before he can climb out of reach. Pushes Bran down to silence him before the two flee." His gaze drifted back to the lover's spot. "That means the couple must be someone Bran instantly recognized. Yet who could it be…" The sunlight shined in more, catching a faint gleam in the wooden floor which makes him crouch low to check. "Pieces of hair…long and golden." Collecting the strands, he'd examine them closely. "Only one person at the keep with this color and lengths. Guess infidelity goes both ways between the King and Queen." He'd pocket the hair as poof before moving back to the window.

"So the woman must be Cersei considering the hair and perfume. Just leaves us our mystery man." However he'd stop muttering as he'd see a nearing group of riders in the distance, approaching the tower. He'd head down and back outside as the riders arrived, Rodrik being at the lead.

"We came here as fast as possible. Jon brought Bran to the keep and Luwin is already tending to him." The Master-at-Arms quickly explained. "Was it an accident? I'm surprised the boy would climb this tower despite its worn age."

Geralt crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I searched the inside of the tower. Seems someone was there recently, at least a few hours." He started off. The Witcher would explained his findings yet pull Rodrik aside to privately share the details about the blond hair and who he believed it to be. The knight was shocked at the idea.

"Look Geralt…what you're suggesting is…" Rodrik muttered.

"Just going off the facts Rodrik. We don't know who the man was or if he pushed Bran off or not. All I can say is the clues I found suggested that outcome." Geralt answered back.

"Who else should we share this with?" The knight questioned.

"Lord Eddard for sure yet I don't know if Lady Catelyn is fit to know this. She'll be too hasty and accuse the Lannister's." Geralt advised.

Rodrik was silent, yet nodded in agreement. "She is distraught. You make a good point Witcher." Looking to the men who were fanning around the area for any other clues, he'd continue to speak. "Well search the area more. Maybe can find out where they were heading."

"They'd need to horses at least to arrive separately or gone by foot. Try to check the paths leading back to Winterfell, especially one that is partly hidden."

The Master-at-Arms nodded. "And what will you do now?"

Geralt paused looking to Winterfell in the distance. "Need to examine Bran. He could have clues on him to identify the man. Plus I feel my skills can help Luwin treat his injuries."

"Agreed. You've done your part here Witcher." The two shook hands while Geralt climbed back onto his horse. "We'll search until nightfall before returning. I'll be sure to inform you of anything new we discovered."

Nodding, Geralt had his horse quickly move out across the plains, heading for Winterfell in a hurry. Arriving back to the main courtyard, there was already a crowd of people gathered around, quickly chattering about what was going on. Avoiding the group, he'd head to the stables to return the horse before hurrying across the yard quickly for the Great Keep. A few people couldn't help but give a double take noticing Geralt's sprint inhumanly quick, yet guessed that the crisis at hand had him in a hurry.

He guards directed the Witcher to Bran's room where Luwin was treating Bran's injured. The bed was cleared of its fur covers and placed with clean sheets while Bran lay on his front, shirt remove which revealed the extent of his injury. His back was bruised and cut yet the lower part of his back had gash at the spine. Luwin was already stitching the wound carefully, the old man having a steady hand as he used the threat and needle. At times he'd get more ointment to clean the wound and prevent infection, correcting treating the injury.

Beside the bed Catelyn was next to Bran, holding one of his hands while staring at his face. The boy was still unconscious yet he seemed more relaxed from his peaceful expression. The woman's face was still damp with tears, yet she had composed herself for the moment while Luwin worked. However, hearing Geralt enter, she'd look to him. Those eyes had a mix of emotions in them, making it hard to read how she felt.

However he didn't speak to her as he'd move beside Luwin. "How bad is it?" He calmly asked.

"The drop was a high one for sure…yet it was the landing that was the most life threatening." The Maester muttered. "From what Jon told me, the jutting rubble has dislocated his lower spine and cut through his nerves. I've seen men cut in such ways lose all feeling to their lower bodies in such a way." Geralt was silent as he'd watch the Maester finish the stitching and sigh. "The boy may never walk again. I need to do more tests to judge his muscle reactions yet so far they don't look good. We won't know the full extent until he wakes up."

At that point Catelyn spoke up, her voice low and cold. "You let this happen…"Both Geralt and Luwin looked at her, confusion showing across their faces while the woman continued to speak. "You knew that he'd go climbing beyond the Keep despite being disallowed from it. You didn't even come along to watch him." She'd sob, looking right at Geralt harshly. "Now he's like this…crippled forever because of your choice!"

Geralt's expression didn't change as the woman accused him of being the cause for all of this. He'd step closer to her, yet she didn't move an inch. "I understand your anger Lady Catelyn, yet putting blame on others isn't going to help Bran or anyone else." He calmly stated before glancing at the sleeping boy. "Maybe I should have gone with him, kept watch to make sure he was safe." Yet he'd look back at her, yellow eyes stern towards her. "Yet I promise you…I'll do everything I can to help him and the truth on what happened.

Catelyn was silent, letting those words sink in. "Are you saying someone caused this?" She asked in a low voice.

He'd nod. "Found clues of a couple at the tower when he was climbing. Not completely sure if they made him fall or witnessed it thought…either way they either caused it or neglected to get help." Pausing to let the details sink in, he'd continue. "Already have some suspects as well. Best I can say is that it was someone from Winterfell, one of the guests from the King's caravan"

"Can you not share details with me?" She asked calmly back.

Geralt was hesitant, before shaking his head. "It is too soon Lady-" He started before she interrupted him.

"Bran is my son and I have the right to know!" She'd snap back sternly.

"And your right but we've only started investigating. Right now your emotional and acting rash. If I told you who I believed was behind this, you'd rush off and create a scene. You'll make the real suspect be on guard and make it harder to catch them." He calmly explained to the noble woman. "Trust me on this matter. I've solved plenty of crimes far more complex than this, yet everyone needs to be calm and silent on the matter."

Catelyn seemed ready to argue, yet she'd give a deep sigh and look back at Bran. She'd gently touch his face caringly before she'd speak once more. "Then I put my trust with you and the others. Don't let those who did this go unpunished."

"Trust me…" Geralt moved away from the bed, heading for the door. "…I won't."

…

Not long after leaving the room, one of the guards approached Geralt in the hall. "Witcher, Lord Stark and King Robert have returned from the hunt." He quickly informed him.

"Good. Tell Eddard that I'll be waiting for him at his study. We have a lot of discus." He'd quickly tell the guard, who nodded and hurried off.

Turning to head for the study, Geralt ran into Jon who was hurrying for Bran's room yet stopped when he found Geralt. "Did you find anything?" He asked the Witcher, who simply nodded. "Can you tell me who-" He started before the Witcher shook his head.

"Too soon to start accusing anyone. Rather not go through the same conversation like I did with Catelyn to explain why." He quickly explained to the young man. "Right now be proud that you saved your brother and focus on what you can do to help him."

Jon didn't answer for a moment before nodding. "I'm just glad he's alive really…" Pausing, he'd continue to speak. "I'm going to see him. I know he's not awake yet I need to just speak my mind to him…hope he can just hear me."

Geralt heard how people did that for those in a coma. Sometimes it just eases the family's worries or could rarely trigger a reaction from the inflicted. "Catelyn is with him. She's very emotional right now yet she's calmed down for now."

"I'll be careful around her…if anything she…thanked me for bring him back." Jon remarked. Glancing away from Geralt, he'd move pass him for the bedroom, opening the door and stepping in before closing it.

The Witcher paused for a moment before continuing on for the study, not letting anything else delay him. Already he'd see the door open and hearing Ned along with Robert speaking. He'd hang back as the two seemed to be arguing.

"He's my son! I can't just leave him!" Ned snapped back at the King.

"Damn it I know that Ned." Robert sternly remarked. "I'd be just as angry and stubborn if my own child was in that bed! Yet there is more at stake here then just your family…it's the whole damn kingdom."

Ned was silent for a moment, before he'd continue to talk. "You have to find someone else Robert. Cat will be devastated if I leave now and I don't think I could fulfill my duties as your Hand."

Heave footsteps followed, no doubt Robert stepping up to Ned. "There is no one else I can trust though. I know there are many qualified lords to choose, yet you're the only one I fully trust!" The king paused for a long moment before speaking. "We'll delay our journey for a few days. That should give you time to think this over and sort matters with your family. Again Ned…I understand family…but in the end your duty comes before all else."

Geralt kept hidden as the King left, although he'd wait a moment longer as Ned muttered lowly. "Duty…the damn chain that binds us all…"

At this point, Geralt would walk into the room, making Ned look up calmly to the Witcher. "How much did you hear?" He questioned.

"About half of it." He truthfully answered. "Besides, I'd rather not reveal my findings to the King. This isn't a matter he should get involved. If anything the less people know the better."

Eddard nodded as Geralt closed the study door and moved towards the desk which the lord stood behind. "So tell me what you found at the tower. Every detail."

The Witcher did so, explaining all the clues he had found. He'd reveal the collection of golden hair and explain who it was from, yet Ned's look beforehand showed he already knew.

"Who else knows?" Ned calmly asked in a low voice.

"It's just you, me and Sir Rodrik." Geralt calmly answered back. "So what should we do? If Cersei was there this will…complicate things."

Ned tapped his knuckles against the solid wooden desk, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "Yes…which is why we have to bide our time." He calmly stated. "The final clue is finding out who she was with and questioning them. Whoever they are they are no doubt far less protected then she is."

"Agreed…problem is I don't know who it can be. King came with dozens of men ranging from courtiers, knights and servants. Can't go interrogating them all without drawing attention." Geralt remarked back.

Ned thought for a moment before an idea came to mind. "Her younger brother, Tyrion. You and him seem to be on good terms considering last night's feast. He knows his sister well, perhaps he has an idea who she is with."

"Kind of a stretch there. She can't be stand looking at him, much less share stories of infidelity over dinner." Geralt argued in a sarcastic manner.

"Jests aside, he's a perceptive individual and he is at least open towards you." Ned answered back. "If anyone knows the queen's secrets it be him and if not then he may know someone else who can."

"Maybe tricky to get the details from him privately. If the queen is behind this she'll have those loyal to her keeping an eye out, especially her brother." Yet he'd pause thinking over last night and what the dwarf had discussed. "Yet I have one idea…"

"What would that be?" Ned questioned.

"Tyrion plans to go to the Wall soon. He'll be mostly by himself, far from any royal servants or people loyal to the queen. Give me time to figure out what he knows." The Witcher explained.

Ned thought over the details, nodding in agreement. "It does. In the meantime I'll try to keep an eye on the queen's actions and movements. News of Bran's survival is already spreading…so if she tries anything in Winterfell, we will know."

Geralt gave a small sigh as he'd pace to the nearby window, looking out at the yard. Robert was talking to the Lannister's, Joffrey standing by the man with an adoring look while the Hound stood by cross armed and bored. Cersei was listening intently to Robert and chatting back, no doubt discussing the news of Bran's fall.

"Thought I'd have a break from this. Had a life time of intrigue already." Geralt muttered to Ned.

"The fate of all involved in politics is it not?" Ned chuckled lowly. "As for Robert's offer…I think I have a solution that keep you independent from the Crown. Have to finalize a few matters though before we discuss it."

"That is good to know. At least the King won't be throwing me into any dungeons any time soon." Geralt remarked with a small smirk. "Be on guard Lord Stark. Doubt this is over."

"I know." Eddard muttered as Geralt moved to leave the room "It's only just the beginning…"

…

 **Notice: Surprise! An extra chapter for all of you this week. Time for mystery and intrigue to truly begin, yet who better to find the truth then Geralt himself. Currently I'm on a roll with my writing currently and plan to go for possibly another chapter in a few days. Overall I hope this chapter put on a good show of Geralt's investigating skills…along with the fact that he just loves talking to himself while doing so. Overall review and PM your reactions and thoughts. I read and often reply to all reviews and messages, because you guys truly do motivate me to write!**


	9. S1-E8: Road to Castle Black

**Chapter Eight: The Road to Castle Black**

Three days had passed since Bran's fall and the boy showed no signs of awakening. Geralt and Luwin had worked tireless to figure out how to revive the boy yet the Witcher knew that was up to time and luck. Catelyn continued to care for the boy, feeding and cleaning him as he slept in bed. If anything the woman hardly slept or ate anything during her vigil.

Geralt kept to himself, although it seemed everyone was keeping to themselves at the same time. Jon seemed set on going to the Wall as the young man was busy getting supplies set and often chatting with Tyrion. The two worked well together with Tyrion giving insightful advice to Jon while the young man shared tales of training with the Witcher. At the same time, Geralt also prepared for travel as he stored his own supplies and gear for the trip northward for the Wall.

Soon news went about that Eddard had reluctantly agreed to become the new Hand of the King. His wife was angered by the news, yet did not try to fight him in leaving. Geralt guessed with the new position, Ned would have be able to look into Cersei's and the Lannister's dealings along with investigate the mysterious death of Jon Arryn as well. Yet going to King's landing would no doubt put Ned and his two daughters at risk being around so many supports of the Lannister family. For now he only hoped Ned make preparations for the two to be watched and guarded when they arrived there.

The on night before the royal caravan planned to leave, Geralt would approach Tyrion as the dwarf was leaving the Great Hall after a short dinner with his family. The dwarf noticed the Witcher, giving a friendly smile and wave while Geralt nodded back. "You've been quiet of late. I take Bran's fall has been troubling for you." The Lannister remarked.

"It has. Was tutoring Bran in archery and sword fighting. Now the boy may never walk again considering his injury." Geralt answered back. "Still he's a tough one like his family. I'm certain he will wake up and find a way in life despite it all."

Tyrion nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "It is a shame Lord Eddard has to leave him as well to serve in the capital. Personally I'd curse the King for telling me to go."

Geralt chuckled at that quite defiant remark. "You are the rebellious type that's for sure…though I'd probably do the same really."

Both of them laughed for a moment before Tyrion spoke up again. "Although I take you didn't come out here to simply joke about nobility?"

"Got me there. Decided I'll be tagging along for that trip to the Wall and Castle Black." The Witcher answered back. "Feel I need some time away from…well...here. Been cooped up in Winterfell for too long."

"Surprised you can even stand being stuck in one place for months. You have the look of a man who's a drifter and thrill seeker to me." Tyrion commented.

Geralt shrugged at the remark. "Sort of was back home. Think I moved across the Northern Realms five times over in just the last year. Course a story for another time."

"I take it that you're prepared for the trip then?"

"Of course. One of the first rules of being a Witcher is to always be prepared." He replied back.

"Heh you'll have to share some tales about your profession. Anyway Jon will be pleased to know you'll be coming along as well. Perhaps you'll get one more chance to sway him from joining the Watch." With that the short Lannister gave a small nod and continued on his way back to his room at the Guest House.

With that matter sorted out, all that was left was one more thing to do. Heading for the Great Keep, he'd go to Bran's room, being silent as near the door. It was partly open to show Catelyn was fast asleep in an armchair, no doubt exhausted after these troubling days. Slipping into the room, he'd near Bran's bed where the boy laid covered in comfortable sheets and furs.

Geralt shifted the pack he had been carrying it, taking out the boy's crossbow and bolt quiver. "I wish I had given these to you soon. Maybe would have made a difference, kept you from leaving the keep or protect you somehow." The Witcher muttered as he'd set the two items on the nightstand next to the bed. However he had one more item to give as he'd pick out a small wooden medallion from the pack. It was shaped similar to his Witcher symbol, although not as sharp or detailed in design. "Knew how badly you wanted to have one. Always noticed how you wanted to wear mine." Leaning in, he'd put the wooden wolf medallion around Bran's neck before shifting back to look down at the sleeping boy. "I promise…I'll make whoever did this pay." Being silent for a moment, he'd give a small sigh before silently leaving and return back to his room.

…

The Witcher woke up early the next morning, getting dressed in his leather and chain armor along with the northern garb he had been given. Grabbing his two swords, crossbow, quiver and alchemy pack, he'd head outside were the caravan was readying to leave. He'd find his horse at the post he had left it with Jon and Tyrion gathered with their own mounts. The two noticed and greeted him, which he returned both the three saddled up to ride for the main road. Already the royal caravan was at the crossroads of Winterfell and the King's Road. Ned and Robert where speaking to each other before the northern lord noticed the group and rode over to them.

"Time for final goodbyes it seems." Geralt remarked as Ned neared the group.

"I'll wait on ahead. I doubt the good Lord wishes to speak with me." Tyrion remarked, riding pass the group when Eddard neared.

The Northern Lord looked between Jon and Geralt, giving a faint smile to them both. "You know…I can't remember the last time I've feel such stress." Ned remarked. "Even in the middle of the Rebellion, the fiercest of battles never pained more then what happened to Bran and the choice of having to leave him here." Taking a deep breath, the man looked at Geralt. "I'd like to speak with you privately for a moment."

Geralt nodded before looking to Jon who spoke up. "I'll wait right here."

Ned and the Witcher rode away to be out of earshot from Jon before the Northern Lord slipped off his mount once they stopped. Geralt did the same as the two faced each other. He'd notice Ned holding a wrapped piece of cloth in his hands.

"In all my years I've never met a man as compassionate, dutiful and brave as you Geralt. If anything you put most knights that I've known to shame." Eddard calmly stated.

"Thank you Lord Stark, yet you exaggerate really." Geralt remarked back with a small smile.

Ned chuckled, shrugging slightly. "Perhaps I am, yet you've treated my family as if they were you own. You've been an inspiration for the men of my household along for my sons and daughters in these short few months." Pausing, he'd have a more serious look in his eyes. "The Starks have never needed a champion for centuries like the other Houses. In the North, we take pride in our strength and self-reliance to protect ourselves."

Ned unwrapped the cloth to reveal a white and grey fur cloak similar to what the Stark family wore. Along it there was a dark metal and leather bracer with the dire wolf symbol carved onto it. "The North is stubborn to change. We're been steady fast in every age, prideful in our sense of duty and honor." He'd pause for a moment before continuing. "Yet these are troubling times and change must come. That is why Geralt of Rivia I ask you to become the champion of House Stark."

The declaration surprised Geralt, the reaction showing in his yellow eyes which Ned noticed. The Witcher was silent, unsure of how to respond. "Lord Stark. I'm honored but…I can't swear fealty to you." The Witcher formally answered back. "A Witcher isn't meant to commit to any lord or king. Besides I can't let such a commitment hinder me."

"I know that and I expect no oaths to any of the Gods be they the Old or New or whatever you follow in your lands." Ned quickly responded. "You're bound to the Starks, my family, is that of friendship and trust. Those are to me are stronger than any vow a man can give." He'd present the cloak and bracer to Geralt, the Witch silent as he looked at them.

In the end he'd take the bracer, removing his own left one to wear the fine piece which matched well with his current armor. Next he'd take the white and grey cloak, fitting it over his back loosely to not get in the way of his swords. Ned gave a small nod and smile.

"It suits you Geralt. Wear it well for the North." Eddard complimented.

"Have to admit I've never been one for cloaks. Doesn't work well for Witcher's work." Geralt remarked. "Yet I can't deny it has style to it."

"That aside, that bracer will show your alliance with us. Show that to any soldier of the north and they will know of your ties with us." Moving to a pack on his horse, he'd also hand Geralt a bunch of rolled up papers. "Also take these."

Geralt quickly opened the scrolls, one being a fresh map of the Seven Kingdoms while the others were documents. Glancing over them they seem to be writs, regional decrees for supplies, aid and so on.

"Those writs can get you anything you need in a time of need, within reason of course. Use them wisely and keep them safe." Ned explained as Geralt carefully rolled them up and put them in his saddle pack.

"So how did Robert react to you tell him of making me your House champion?" Geralt questioned.

"Surprisingly pleased. In the end he won't have to worry about managing you and he sees this as you simply working for me officially…even though it isn't." Ned explained. "That aside we have to discuss your travel plans."

"Right…" Geralt muttered. "With me, Tyrion and Jon, we should arrive at Castle Black in… about half a week considering. Only plan to be there a few days before heading back south. Not sure if Tyrion will tag along or not though but I'll have enough time to question him about Cersei."

"Good. From my understanding it will take the royal caravan a bit over a month to return to King's Landing. Have a few stops along the way. You may catch up with us." Pausing, Ned nodded to the pack, making Geralt remember the map. Taking it out, the two looked over it as Ned scanned along it. "Here." He'd point at a major crossroad spot that split in fall fours directions.

"What's there?" Geralt questioned.

"A famous unnamed in, although everyone simply call it the Crossroads Inn." Ned explained. "When Robert and I lived in the Vale, we'd visit there at times whenever we traveled. You won't find better food or more interesting characters." Ned explained. "Overall that would be your best chance to rejoin us. If other matters do get in the way though, send a raven there or to the Red Keep."

"Sure. Overall seems we have a solid plan set." Geralt repacked the map, making sure to mark the meeting spot down on it.

"So until we meet again Geralt." Ned held one hand out as the two firmly shook hands. "Watch the roads and woods well my friend. Winter is coming." From what the Witcher knew, the saying was that of vigilance and warning. Ned got back onto his horse before riding back to Jon while the Witcher pulled himself back onto his saddle and riding to where Tyrion was waiting.

"My now…seems Lord Stark has given you a promotion." The dwarf chuckled, noting the fine cloak Geralt wore.

"More of a parting gift. Besides from what I know the far north is cold even in the summer." Geralt remarked back. The two watched the distant conversation between Ned and Jon, curious on what they were saying.

However the two heard a horse nearing them or more of a pony when they glanced to the main road. There was Arya, grinning excitedly as she'd hurry her mount over to the two, stopping with a small giggle.

"Didn't expect your father let you ride on your own." Geralt chuckled.

"Mother isn't around to worry. Besides he said I can only ride a bit a day while we travel." The young girl answered back before looking to her father and half-brother talking. "I'm going to miss Jon. Is he really planning to stay at the Wall?" She asked somberly.

Geralt nodded, giving a sigh. "He's convicted. Guess he feels he'll have a righteous purpose there. A chance to make something of himself by his own hand."

Arya sighed, unsure what to say. Shifting, she'd grab something behind her pack to reveal a small thin weapon sheath. "Jon gave me this. It's a sword meant for me." She'd carefully draw it to show off the thin sword which Geralt considered a cross between a short sword and rapier in design. "I call it Needle. Special swords like this need names after all."

"I find that a suitable name. Sounds innocent yet hides its deadly nature." Tyrion commented, making Arya chuckle.

"Heh it be a fitting weapon for you Imp. About the right size for you too." Arya chuckled, yet was playful with the dwarf's so called 'title'.

"Alas I'm not a fighter. Words and wit are my sword and shield." He answered back in a grandiose manner, making Arya smirk.

"So now that I have a sword can you teach me how to fight?" Arya quickly asked Geralt, an eager gleam in her eyes.

"Huh…not too sure about that." He started yet the young Stark gave that puppy dog stare, making him grumble. "Alright maybe…so long as you get your father's permission. You have a long road ahead, so plenty of time to do so."

Arya beamed, nodding quickly as he'd tuck her sword away once more. "Thank you! Bet dad will agree, I know it!" With that she'd wave to both Geralt and Tyrion, giving a cute smile to the two. "Enjoy seeing the Wall…try not to get lost alright!" She'd then ride off back for the caravan while the two waved goodbye.

"A lively girl. So different from her older sister." Tyrion remarked.

"Yah…classic tomboy like Ciri." Geralt muttered in agreement before noticing Jon and Ned had finished their conversation. The two went their separate ways, Ned following his young daughter back to the caravan while Jon returned his companions.

Nearing, Jon had thoughtful look across his face and remained silent once he stopped before the others. They'd look at the young man curiously, expecting some big reveal from him. "Right…shall we get going then?" Jon simply asked.

Tyrion gave a surprised look after hearing that. "Wait…you just talked to your father for possibly the last time…and you have nothing to share with us?" The dwarf questioned.

Jon kept a passive look for a moment before nodding. "Yah…we just said our goodbyes." He muttered.

"So no secret reveals? No truth of your mother or…or maybe he's not your father!" Tyrion teased, making Jon growl lowly in annoyance. "That be a fascinated twist to any story yes?" The dwarf asked Geralt.

"A bit clichéd if you ask me." Geralt replied back before shaking his head. "Look, stop pestering Jon. Whatever they discussed it's between them alone. He can tell us what was said when he feels like it."

The young man was silent, yet gave a short nod of thanks to Geralt while Tyrion gave a small sigh of disappointment. "I do hate cliff hangers you know." He muttered before looking northward. "Anyway enough chatter. We have a good ride for the Wall and I want to get there as soon as possible." Before anyone could react, the dwarf had his small horse galloping forward, making the two hurry along to follow after. Jon cracked a small smile chasing after the dwarf, Geralt smirking as everyone focused on the journey ahead.

…

The first few days were calm and peaceful for the three, riding through beautiful woodlands and plains. They did stop in a few nearby villages for warm food and soft beds, yet soon any hint of civilization was completely lost to unending wilderness on the third day of traveling. Along the way Tyrion constantly chatted with the two, questioning Geralt the most about his travels and what his home country was like. He'd share the same tale like he had with most people and mainly discus the many unique kingdoms that made up his world. The mention of the Nilfgaard Empire had Tyrion very curious, considering the Empire's proactive researching and modernization…even if it was through strict and sometimes brutal control.

"They sound like world conquerors for sure. A war between the Seven Kingdoms and them be quite an epic I'd say." The dwarf commented to Geralt.

"Rather avoid that. Besides, the Empire is big enough as it is." The Witcher muttered.

The third night, the group made camp off the side of the road. The clearing was fitting enough for sizable camp fire and setting up their bedrolls for sleeping. Lucky the two had Geralt to help around as the Witcher easily got some rabbits for dinner and showed Jon a few skinned tricks. Tyrion would casually watch while reading one of a few books he had packed with him. Soon everyone was sitting around the fire, each eating a piece of rabbit on a stick silently.

"So Witcher…I think it's time you share some monster stories with us." Tyrion asked after finishing his meal.

"Last time I mentioned such things you seemed dubious at best. Then again we were half under from all the drinking." Geralt remarked back.

Tyrion chuckled, rolling his eyes a bit in amusement. "Considering the tales of dragons and the many exotic beasts that exist across the Narrow Sea…well…perhaps your land's beasts are not so far-fetched."

Jon gave a small shrug and nod as he'd finish up his rabbit. "He has a point there. Doubt you have anything that can top that."

"Fine…" He debated on telling them that he did face a dragon once, although decided not to do that just yet. He'd probably be confusing them more than anything. "Alright then, I'll tell you the one that got me pretty well known among the Northern Realms. Started off when following an old contract, a seven year old one in the Kingdom of Temeria involving the cursed daughter of a king being a Striga."

Geralt detailed the wild story of how King Foltest's unborn daughter had been cursed by a spiteful noble seeking revenge for the taboo marriage between the King and his sister. Of course he kept those details short and simple, focusing more on detailing the fierce and deadly Striga along with the fact that Foltest was desperate to find some way to reverse the curse. Removing the curse sounded simple, keep the creature from its sarcophagus until dawn. The problem…survive the night. A small army of mystics, knights, adventurers, fools and other Witchers had all tried only to flee or die.

The Witcher shared the deadly night he faced the beast, fighting in with the halls of an abandoned palace. He told the two about how the noble who made the curse had come and became handy bait in the end, even if it lead to a gruesome end for him. When the battle itself began, he'd detail every step and move he did…well...nearly everyone one as he excluded his use of Signs. In the end he'd trick the Striga and sneak into its tomb, sealing himself in its own sarcophagus for the rest of the long night. Then came the finale of the grand tale.

"So did it work?" Jon asked, excited after everything he heard.

Geralt nodded. "When I crawled out of that tomb there was no Striga but a fourteen year old girl. She was thin and looked like she had been through hell, yet human enough. Had to get close to examine her and…well…" He'd rub the back of his head, glancing away slightly. "…she still was partly monstrous and surprised me, sliced my neck with her lingering claws."

Both of his companions gave surprised look, yet Tyrion gave an amused chuckle. "Wait, you battled a fierce beast throughout a night unscathed yet a girl gets the jump on you?" The dwarf questioned.

Sighing, Geralt suddenly tugged the collar of his cloak and leather jacket along with the plain shirt he had aside. His neck was exposed and despite all the skilled healing he had gotten that scar over his jugular remained. "Wound like this kill most men. Lucky I pulled back just enough to avoid getting my throat slit." He calmly stated.

Tyrion had a nervous look, lightly rubbing his own neck at the thought. "Point taken."

"In the end I subdued her, then passed out from the bleeding and exhaustion. Foltest's men found me and her. Took us both back to the new palace where I was passed out for two days then before waking up. Took another two days before I was strong enough to leave, though in the end I rode off with three thousand orens and the high praise of a king." Still, he'd give a small sigh. "Still didn't mean people tried to cheat and rob me at every turn though."

The dwarf chuckled at that remark. "The more fame you have, the more people will recognize you."

Geralt nodded in agreement, yet was became oddly silent. For a moment Jon and Tyrion looked at the Witcher with a questioning looks, unsure what was going on. "Geralt?" Jon spoke up, shifting up in his seat slightly.

However Geralt didn't even glance at Jon, yet one hand shifted slowly toward his blades set beside him. Tyrion gulped nervously as his gaze shifted to the dark woodlands, his mind still fresh with the terrible Striga tale. Jon kept calm as he too reached for his long sword cautiously. He knew Geralt noticed something he or Tyrion couldn't that was considered dangerous. For a long moment the only sounds was the crackle of the camp fire, the creak of the surrounding woods and Tyrion heavy breathing.

Suddenly there was a snap and in an instant Geralt moved, steel sword drawn out as he suddenly rushed at Tyrion. The dwarf yelled in surprise before the air rang out as the Withcer's sword striked something out of the air. It took a moment for Tyrion to process what had just happened as he'd glance to his side, seeing an arrow clatter down onto his lap. "He…he deflected an arrow?!" He muttered in shock. Even Jon was shocked at what just happened, his sharper eyes having seen what just happened.

Soon there were yells as figures charged the camp from the darkness, familiar ones for Geralt as he'd recognize the rough leather and fur outfits of Wildlings. "Watch our flank Jon! Don't hesitate because they won't! Tyrion stay low and get my crossbow!" He ordered before another arrow flew right at him, yet with ease he deflected it out into the darkness, drawing a pained cry as it hint one of the charging attackers.

"He did it again!" Tyrion yelled out in disbelief before another arrow struck at the nearby tree, making him yelp in surprise. He'd quickly throw himself to the ground to avoid any more arrows while the Wildlings rushed in. There was at least eight of them counting the one archer hanging back. The leader of the group was a towering bald man with ritual scar marks along his face, wielding a fine steel battle axe. He had an arrow to the side, the one Geralt had deflected, which the savage pull out and snapped with one hand.

"White haired one…" He growled while the rest of his Wildling raiders rushed in.

Geralt smirked, a thrilled look in his yellow eyes to at last have a real fight on his hands. Glancing to Jon, the young man had a serious look about him yet seemed ready for this moment. Quickly two Wildlings faced off against the Witcher, broadly swinging their worn weapons at him. They lacked any real tactic or pattern of attack, leaving their defenses low. For once he didn't have to hold back as he'd parry one blow, guiding the weapon aside while twisting about to dodge the other Wildling's attack.

The savage he dodged howled as Geralt sword cut across his back, knocking him down, twitching as his spine can be severed with one clean blow. "Bastard!" The other yelled as he'd lunge in to strike directly at Geralt who simply stepped back and blocked a follow up attack. Quickly one foot kicked the Wildling in the gut, knocking the wind out of him before being thrown onto his back. Flowing with his movements, Geralt spun his blade about before stabbing down right into the man's heart who gave such a shocked gurgled cry before being still. He'd withdraw his blade of the man's chest, spinning it about to flick the blood off the blade and across the ground.

Glancing back, the Witcher saw Jon facing against two Wildlings of his own, handling them with ease. He avoiding blocking excessively, relying more on footwork to avoid their wide attacks and counter at their side or flank. One got stabbed clean through the side, gasping out before Jon withdrew his blade and spinning about to block a high blow from the other Wildling. He'd shift and twist their locked weapons, deftly disarming the raider in one smooth motion before slashing upward cross his chest.

During all of this, Tyrion was scrambling for Geralt's pack and quickly grabbed the one-hand crossbow which was already loaded. One of the Wildlings saw the dwarf in on the ground, seeing him as easy pickings as he'd close in. The dwarf quite panicking with the battle happening around him quickly aimed the crossbow before firing, striking right into the raider's chest and halting his charge. Growling at the pain while Tyrion quickly reloaded to fire another shot close by the last bolt before the man dropped to the ground dead.

All that was left was the archer, the axe wielding leader and one nervous young Wildling. Geralt eyed the three, the archer and other raider openly nervous as the Witcher and Stark had beaten multiple people at once. The Witcher eyed the three, yet noticed the scarred man had a wild look in his eyes.

"You dance as if the blade was part of you." He chuckled, voice deep and gravely. "I thought the south be full of soft people…yet you are different." The man saw Geralt's yellow catlike eyes and grinned. "Yes. You feel the thrill like the half-beast you are. The bloodlust of killing another without mercy. You've done this countless times."

Geralt didn't shift his tense stance as the Wildling leader laughed out at that fierce stare. "One chance to back off. Crawl back north and huddle in some far off corner. You got over the Wall somehow…best try to enjoy that freedom while you can live." He coldly threatened the warrior.

"A Thenn doesn't run or cower Southern." He'd grasp his axe in both hands, spinning the massive weapon about with agile skill. "We are the true First Men. These lands belongs to us and we claim it or die trying!"

Geralt spun his blade about in his grip, stance low as he stared the Thenn down. "That can be arranged." He muttered before noticing Jon standing ready to fight. "Stay out of his Jon."

"He's a Thenn Geralt. Few men can fight one alone." The Stark remarked as the tall warrior slowly stepped closer.

"Lucky I'm not like most men. Guard Tyrion, the other two don't seem to be backing down either." Geralt answered back, not looking away from the axe swinging warrior.

The Thenn was pleased that the Witcher planned to face him one on one, grinning eagerly. "Kill the others. If you dare step in I'll cut you up myself!" He threatened he'd move in, axe raised to his side to attack.

Both the Thenn and Geralt moved at each other, that fine axe slashing out in an upward swing. Geralt side stepped and lashed out with a switch slash for the man's side, yet the savage twisted the axe about to block the blow with the long metal shaft of his weapon. Both of them twisted away from each other, grasping their weapons in both hands as they ended up in a powerful clash.

While the two battled, Jon focused on the last Wildling who looked little more than his age. "Don't have to do this…" The Stark muttered as they circled each other.

"It's you or me in the end." The raider muttered before giving a yell before attacking.

The Wildling left himself open with his charge as Jon lunged in, sword striking across the man's belly while avoiding the raider's overhead swing. The man staggered and coughed up blood before slumping forward to the ground. However when Jon looked up, he saw the Wildling archer aimed right at him, smirking for a moment before suddenly getting a bolt through the side of his skull. Jon quickly look to the side were Tyrion had snuck off, crossbow lowering as he'd look over to the Stark.

Meanwhile Geralt's and Thann's duel was reaching its critical point. The Wildling raider was panting as Geralt's superhuman speed was fully shown as the warrior could barely react fast enough to block such quick constant blows. His own counter attacks were becoming slower and slower until the Witcher shifted back. The man panted deeply, catching his breath while Geralt hardly seemed to breathe.

"Just what are you…?" The Thann gasped, growling in frustration. "No one can move that fast…"

Geralt didn't answer at first as again he tensed for another attack. "Any last words?"

For a moment the Thann was silent, tightly gripping his weapon and glance at his dead raiders. "In the end this changes nothing. There will be more of us…and when we fall we'll rise again. We all will."

Geralt gave a questioning look at the Wildling's statement. "What do you mean?"

Chuckling, the Thann took a deep breath as he'd ready his axe again. "You will see in time White Wolf. The Long Night comes and everyone will brave its horrors."

With that the Wildling roared a battle cry before spinning his axe about, swinging high and low attacks to force Geralt back. The Witcher back pedaled those attacks, getting an idea of the timing before he'd suddenly rush forward. He'd do a partial slide under the incoming slash before twisting about, sword cutting upward at the Thann's exposed left arm. What followed was a howl of pain and the gush of blood as Geralt cut his arm at the forearm with a clean cut. Despite the pain, the Wildling gripping his large weapon with his right hand as his rage drove him on. He'd swing out yet the Witcher simply stopped the attack as his free hand grabbed the shaft of the large axe. Forcing the weapon blade down to the ground, he'd lash out as he'd then cut the other arm off, drawing even more pained cries from the warrior. Jon and Tyrion stood there in shock, yet Geralt was focused on finishing this. His bloody blade was at the warrior's neck as the Thann dropped to his knees panting and howling in pain, yet giving a mad grin in the end.

"Glorious!" He muttered before Geralt pulled his blade back and decapitated him, his bald head tumbling away into the darkness. That grin remained on his face even in death while the body slumped to its side.

Calmly Geralt looked to Tyrion and Jon, both too shocked to react. Taking a deep breath, he'd clean his blade off the dead Thann before moving to the two.

"Gods Geralt that was…a bit excessive…" Tyrion muttered.

"Got caught up in the fight…didn't want to take any chances as well." Geralt answered back. "Besides, I have a feeling he'd have done much worse to us."

Jon nodded, calming down from the fighting. "Thann's are said to be cannibals from what I heard. Few of the other Wildlings tribes like them because of that."

"Ah…that is a fair point then." The dwarf muttered before moving to Geralt who'd moved to sheath his blade. "I guess I now see why your swordsmanship is so renowned. Never seen anyone, not even Jaime move so fast before." Pausing, he'd glance at the stop where he had been sitting during the ambush. "Still…how did you block an arrow like that, much less one from an unseen attacker? Tyrion questioned.

"Let's just say it took a lot of practice to do that. Involves a lot of timing and reflexes as well." He simply said.

"Well it's a trick that saved my life which I am grateful for." Tyrion said thankfully before handing the Witcher's Crossbow back. "Same thanks to your crossbow as well. I've practiced my share of archery, yet your crossbow's design let me shot in mere seconds."

"It is one of a kind." Geralt remarked before packing the weapon away. "Still requires a good aim to be useful which you lucky have." Packing the weapon aside, Geralt continued to pack away his belongings. "Anyway, we should move on. More Wildlings lurking or the blood may draw predators. Besides, doubt we should sleep with corpses around."

"So much for a calm trip." Jon muttered before looking to the fallen axe of the Thann. "Wait, we should take some proof back to Castle Black. This is the second raiding party within months, this could be what we need to convince the King to better aid the Watch!"

Geralt paused as he'd think for a moment. Indeed Jon had a good point, since in total that made twenty Wildlings having come over the Wall. Who knew how many more were slipping past the massive barrier, taking advantage of the fact that much of the border was unmanned. With so much open space between the different Holdings, these raiders could easily pillage the isolated towns, build up their strength and numbers over time. "Fair point. At the least this is worth showing the Commander at Castle Black as well."

Moving to the fallen weapon, Geralt got a closer look at the weapon. It was nothing like the crude or stolen weapons the other Wildlings had, being a master crafted weapon with interest yet non-magical runes. Jon noticed Geralt curious interest in the weapon. "The Thann's are said to be one of the most powerful tribes beyond the Wall. Despite their fierce nature and…eating habits, they have access to forges and skilled smiths unlike the other tribes."

"Interesting…anyway let's move. An hour's ride should distance us far enough from here."

Tyrion sighed hearing this. "Here I thought we've have a restful night…"

The group hurried off down the dark road, torches out to light the way. Jon glanced at Geralt, seeing how unfazed the man was after that sudden ambush. True he knew well how Geralt fought after their many sparring matches and lessons yet against the Wildlings he showed only cold ruthlessness. Plus the way he executed the raid leader had him sick to the gut deep down. After a while, he'd ride up close to the Witcher and spoke in a hushed voice.

"So how do you do it…just…killing others with such ease? The way you fought and looked it wasn't like anything I've seen in any of the sparring matches."

Geralt gave a side way's glance to the young man, seeing the tense look in those eyes. "There is a difference between a sparring lesson and real battle. There is no chatter, no joking or second tries…you let your guard down and you'll die." Letting those blunt words sink in, he'd continue to speak. "For me, time and exposure is how I've come to accept killing. Second guessing doesn't change who lived and died."

"I know that…I'm not regretting having to kill them!" Jon quickly muttered back.

"And I'm not suggesting that. If anything you handled yourself well. Kept your composure and didn't hesitate. I've seen more talented warriors do that too often and pay for it." The Witcher calmly stated.

Jon sighed as he'd be silent for a moment. "It was the last one who got to me. He seemed my age considering. His eyes had such…a desperate look to them, makes me wonder just what made them brave the Wall to come here."

Geralt too wondered. What the Thann mentioned had him thinking of theories, mainly that of the White Walkers. Sure the lands beyond the Wall were harsh, yet records showed possibly a million or more people lived beyond it despite the hostile environment. Something new and threatening was forcing the Wildlings to flee. "In the end their human. They maybe savage from our point of view yet share the same emotions and fears we have."

The young man though kept silent before nodding his head, sighing as he'd slow down as he'd glance at a clearing nearby. "Let's stop. We should be far enough by now." He calmly stated, not giving a true reaction to the Witcher's words.

Indeed they had traveled far, Geralt realizing their conversation had been distracting him. Tyrion seemed nearly ready to doze off in his saddle, snapping to attention when he realized they stopped. In the end he nodded in agreement as he'd quickly get the area cleared for their hasty camp. With bedrolls laid out, Jon and Tyrion were quick to fall asleep, exhausted from the traveling and ambush. Geralt though remained vigilant as he'd shift to sit on his knees and enter mediation, resting his mind and body yet keeping his senses sharp for any more surprises.

…

However something tugged at his mind, drawing him away from clearing he rested in. His surroundings were that of a frozen wasteland, much like the dead world he had visited with Avallac'h. A fierce snow storm shrouded his surroundings, yet his sharp eyes could just see movement ahead along with hearing the sound of clanging weapons. A familiar and fierce yell was heard, a female voice that he recognized.

"CIRI!" He yelled out over the howling winds as he'd draw his silver blade and forcing through the pushing wind. Nearing the sounds of battle, he could see the shadow of Ciri moving about, her warping abilities having her appear and reappear in a flash. A crown horned figure battled her, moving inhumanly fast and seemingly predicting where she'd teleport to attack.

Nearing the scene of the fight, the horned figure suddenly had one hand reach out, grabbing Ciri by the throat as she phased into existence. She'd howl out despite the grip of the figure not even tensing, as if she was being burned…no freezing. Yet despite the pain she still had focus and desire to survive. Suddenly she faded, perhaps in desperation or a natural reaction in her Elder Blood to preserve her. The figure seemed confused, staring at the empty air silently for a long moment. At this point Geralt saw the figure's piercing bright blue eyes, a glowing gaze that was empty and devoid of emotion. The figure seemingly saw Geralt, the eyes not even blinking as it suddenly flexed his hand at him. A gush of wind blew at Geralt, flinging him away like a ragdoll and into cold nothingness.

He struggled and yelled in the howling wind, trying to fight…struggle…find some way to that cursed creature. Yet despite the deafening sound of the wind, a single echoing caw of a raven could be heard. Then he saw it, a massive black raven flying toward him, it's head low to reveal a third eye on its forehead. Its clawed feet reached for him, yet when then closed around his form everything went dark.

…

Snapping his eyes open, Geralt gasped and nearly bolted up to his feet, one hand going for his swords. Yet he'd see the surprised faces of Tyrion and Jon, the two stepping back as they had been watching the Witcher closely.

"Gods man…although thought we had to slap you awake." Tyrion remarked while Geralt quickly moved his hand away from his swords.

Jon nodded, stepping closer to Geralt to offer a hand to help him stand fully up. "What was wrong…some nightmare?"

Geralt firmly took the offered hand, pulling himself. "Sort of…not sure what it was about." He muttered.

"Most dreams often make no sense." Tyrion commented with a shrug. "Still you seemed ready to fight…had us worried you'd start lashing out."

The Witcher couldn't help but smirk at the remark, thinking back to how he had gotten visions of his past when he lost his memory or the nightmares he had of the Wild Hunt tormenting him or his friends. Was this vision similar…or some distant warning of some kind? Shaking his head, he'd move to pick up his swords and cloak, fitting both across his back. "Anyway I'm awake now." Glancing at the sky, he'd realize it was late morning as well. "Should have left sooner. No matter should get to Castle Black by the evening from my guess." He'd already gather his pack, trying to hurry along before the two questioned him about what he had dreamed.

Soon the three were saddled up and back on the King's Road heading northward once more. For a long while no one spoke as they'd soon enter the region called The Gift. The hilly plains were lush and green despite the chilly conditions, fitting land for farming this far north. From what Geralt read, the early Stark family gave this territory to the Night's Watch as a source of resources and food. A few villages filled this area who supplied Castle Black, yet support was low considering the Night's Watch low numbers.

Jon was riding ahead, eager to see the Wall and Castle Black. Tyrion kept riding at a slow stroll, a perfect chance to talk privately with the dwarf. Riding alongside the Lannister, Tyrion gave a curious look towards the Witcher. "I take you wish to discuss something?"

"A private matter, one I hope you can keep to yourself." Geralt answered back.

Tyrion paused for a moment before shrugging. "Lucky I'm good at keeping secrets…very well…ask away

"It's about Bran. His fall wasn't an accident. There were two others else at that tower, one of them being your sister." The Witcher calmly explained.

The dwarf had an odd look in his eyes, a mix of curiosity yet worry. "And you have proof?"

"Just sample of long golden hair. One long haired blond at Winterfell at the time was Lady Cersei."

"Are you accusing her of having pushed young Bran off that tower?" Tyrion questioned.

"Not yet her male companion may have done so." Geralt quickly explained. "At best she is a witness to an attempted murder. Worse, she ordered it to happen."

"Then I'll just have to accept your judgement on that matter. I take then you expect me to know of her…companion at the tower."

Geralt nodded calmly. "I don't care about her love habits or the fact of infidelity. Robert obviously does that as well. Point is do you know who she could have been with?"

Tyrion was silent, yet he'd smirk in amusement. "If anything it's obvious considering. Haven't heard the rumors about my sister have you?"

"Gossip isn't on the top of my list during conversations. Besides I don't know much about what goes on in the capital."

"Ah…a fair point." The dwarf muttered with a shrug. "Many people claim my sister has many lovers, yet the most shameful of claims is that she sleeps with our brother Jaime." He had a small smirk on his lips. "The two were always close. I remember the story of how Jaime rushed off to join the King's Guard after Cersei was sent off to the capital…can't remember what for, perhaps all part of father's plan to marry into the Targaryen's."

"Yet is it true?" Geralt calmly asked.

"As I said a rumor." Yet the dwarf had a knowing look to his eyes, a subtle hint of course.

"Can't exactly report to the Starks on a slanderous rumor. Come on Tyrion, surely you know more." Geralt argued. "I saved your life last night and from my understanding, 'Lannister's always pay their debts'."

Tyrion grumbled at the mention of his family moto. "And we do Witcher." He muttered. "Hypothetically what would you do I Jaime and Cersei had been in that tower…and that my brother happened to push Bran out that window?"

Geralt locked eyes with the dwarf, an intense in that yellow cat like gaze. "Debating if I'd break his legs in return or drag him to Eddard and the courts to be judged."

Tyrion was silent before giving a small sigh. "Well at least you're honest." Chuckling, he'd glance away. "Again this is just rumors and guesses Geralt. Don't think I'm defending my family, because in the end I don't know who could have been at the tower at that moment. I only have your word to follow up on." Yet after a moment's silence, he'd speak up. "However I can help. Jaime trusts me and in the end I can draw the truth from him. Be it that he committed the act or Cersei confided on what happened, he may just share the truth…or at least betray a lie."

"You'd be willing to do that, interrogate your own family, your own brother?" Geralt muttered, curious at the dwarf's offer. "How do I know you won't warn him or somehow lie to me in return?"

Tyrion laughed lightly at the remark. "And risk angering you? I'd rather not wish your wrath Witcher considering what you've shown. You a far better friend then an enemy."

The compliment at the end was surprisingly to hear, making Geralt give a small smile. "I am sorry about being blunt on the matter. I owe the Starks for their kindness and Bran…he deserves justice."

The dwarf nodded slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes, no doubt thinking of the few encounters he had with the boy. "I understand that. He seemed fond of you after all, almost like a second father like Jon."

"Heh…never thought anyone call me a good father figure." Geralt chuckled.

"I maybe whore chaser and wine hounder, yet I always pride myself in judging one's true character." Tyrion boasted before Jon called out.

"Hurry up you two! I can see it!" The young man was at the top of the next hill, waving for the two.

Tyrion smirked as he'd have his pony hurry forward in a mock race with Geralt. The Witcher easily caught as both of them rejoined Jon. The view was breath taking indeed even for Geralt who had seen much in his near century of living. He had visited the great capitals of his world, seen the natural wonders of kingdoms and explored the aged ruins of the past. Yet the Wall, it was something different.

The vast mass of ice and rock stretched out for miles on end, beyond the horizon even to the distant seas it linked to. From his studies he knew the Wall stretched three hundred miles between to the Bay of Ice and Bay of Seals. Its height was over seven hundred feet tall and the top wide enough for a troop of riders to go across like a road. Indeed he doubted anything like this could exist in this world, even with all the grand powers the elves and sorceresses had under their control.

"Amazing…" He muttered before glancing at the others to see they own looks of wonder.

"It is. You read and hear so much of it yet never truly understand its scale until you see it." Tyrion remarked.

"Aye. Makes you wonder just what it guards us from too." Jon muttered as his gaze shifting to a black structure at the base of the Wall and where the King's Road ended, Castle Black itself. "Let's hurry on now." Already Jon was off, Geralt quickly following while Tyrion fumbled with his reins to give chase as they all neared the vast shadow of the Wall.

…

 **Notice: An early chapter this week and possibly another if the weekend isn't too busy. Overall, review and PM please! Already many people after shared interesting ideas and theories which have been very inspiring. Thank you all for your support!**


	10. S1-E9: Witcher on the Wall

**Chapter Nine: Witcher on the Wall**

The Wall loomed over the trio, making Geralt realize just how tall the icy barrier was. Yet as they neared the black fortress, he'd feel the medallion quiver and shake around his neck. Staring up to the peak of the Wall, he knew that this thing was truly made from magic. It made sense since he doubted the First Men could have made this on their own, not even a thousand years of work. By the time they were nearing the walls of the castle, he had to grip the medallion as it rattled intensely, trying to ease the trinket reaction.

Castle Black itself was an old structure, dating back to the building of the Wall itself. The black stoned fortifications looked fitting for that claim, the place seeming to be in a constant state of reconstruction from what Geralt could tell. It showed how the Watch could barely maintain their base of operations with the limited supply of men, much less ones with the required skills to do such repairs. Yet he could tell this castle had a strong history to it, one that wouldn't yield even in this state.

The trio neared the heavy wooden gates which opened up from within as the guards called out their arrival. With the way open, the group could see into the large yard of the fortress, filled with recruits who were busy being trained and drilled. The gathered men were a mix of ages, yet mostly young to middle age from Geralt's estimates. They were dressed in the black leather uniforms of the Watch, simple garb that marked their low rank. The few rangers that drilled them wore more of studded leather armor and had impressive black cloak, the design having almost a feathered look to it.

The Witcher took his time examining the court yard, noting the surrounding walls all connected in one large walk way. There were only a few stairways or ramps up to this walkway, yet overall the design offered plenty of distance for archers to pick off attackers. At the far end was a platform that viewed over the yard and lead to a towering wooden structure, lift that went up to the top of the Wall. At the stage, two men watched the group arrive. Geralt recognized one being Benjen Stark, Ned's last surviving brother who had joined the Night's Watch before the Rebellion. Beside him was an older man, with short white hair and beard which was quite well kept. The outfit he wore was the finest leather armor and cloak out of the group, a show of his commander rank. His sharp eyes scanned the yard and then over the trio. Benjen leaned in to speak with the commander, who nodded and said something back.

By now Geralt's group would stop at the small stables to tie their horses while the Benjen and the Night Commander approached them. The First Ranger smiled as he looked to Jon. "Good to see you here Jon. I take the ride wasn't too rough?"

Jon chuckled, sharing a short hug with his uncle. "Can say we had some trouble on the road…although Geralt be best to detail that." He answered back.

"I think some introductions are at least needed." The old commander muttered. "Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"Geralt of Riva. Witcher."

"Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tywin's second born son."

Both were formal, noting the Lord Commander's judging look as he eyed the dwarf and mutant. "Didn't expect for a Lannister to grace us. I thought all care for the Watch has been forgotten in the capital…well…besides being a criminal dumping ground." Jeor gruffly remarked.

"Thankfully I know the importance of the Watch. Besides recent events has me interested in getting the Night's Watch the aid it needs." Tyrion answered back. Geralt didn't expect the dwarf to sudden have such an interest, yet the events of last night attack was no doubt fresh in the noble's mind.

Jeor nodded. "Good to see someone at least care." Looking to Geralt, he'd step up close to stare right into those yellow cat like eyes. "Heh…when I heard they pulled you odd of the woods, I didn't expect your description to be true. Pale as a ghost and having eyes of a beast."

"Not going to be an issue is it?" Geralt questioned back calmly.

After a moment Jeor smirked and shook his head. "Considering how you deal with Wildlings and have the favor of Lord Stark, I feel your trust worthy. That aside though, care to tell me what happened during your trip here?"

Geralt nodded to his horse and to the wrapped up axe he had on the side of the saddle. Tugging the cloth back to reveal the fine steel blade, Benjen and Jeor gave surprised looks seeing the Thann weapon. The Lord Commander had an intense look in his eyes, not looking away from the weapon as he spoke. "Where and when?"

"Day south by the King's Road. Eight in total." Geralt answered in a low voice. "None of them got away. Jon even killed three of them by himself."

Jeor looked to the young man, making Jon glance slightly as if expecting the Lord Commander to be looking at someone else. "When news of that first raiding group was heard, we thought it was a fluke. Just a group that were mad enough to climb the far eastern end of the Wall. Now a second group in just two months…either their planning something or desperate." The commander muttered.

"More reason that you let me go beyond the Wall. Let me and my men scout the populated regions. If the Wildlings tribes are active and rumors of a new King…" He started before Jeor raised a hand to silence him.

"A matter to discus in later and in private." The Commander muttered before looking to Jon. "Besides, your nephew needs he be settled in first. Fresh uniform and cloak be a good start."

Benjen looked to Jon, giving a small nod. "Of course."

The young man looked to Geralt and Tyrion. "Guess I'll see you two later." Benjen placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, guiding him towards the keep to get him equip for the Watch.

Tyrion and Geralt watched them walk away before focusing back on Jeor. "Best we discuss matters at my office. This way please." The two followed the Lord Commander across the yard for the keep, yet moved up to the second level from a set of stairs. Entering the structure, they'd move down one hallway and through a heavy wooden door, leaving to a large office and study with a sleeping space set off to the side. Jeor moved to hang his cloak up before moving to his seat behind the large black wood desk, giving a tired sigh as he sat back. "Make yourself comfortable."

The two got their cloaks off and moved to take the seats set before the desk. Geralt took the time to look around the room, noting the maps and charts along one wall that detailed the different Wildlings tribes and their territory. One map showed the Wall itself, detailing patrols and stations, which was all focused on Castle Black. There were many other castles and forts along the Wall, yet from what Geralt knew, they were abandoned or were barely maintained now. "Seems the talk of your group being under manned seems true."

"Guh…you don't know the half of it. Recruits we get are too few and incompetent. Our gear has become second hand at best. Food and supplies have been at least steady for now. As for the castle, it's worn yet holding together." Jeor rubbed the sides of his head, obviously frustrated with the matter. "Most of these men don't want to be here. Yet in the end I do my best to care and discipline them, try to straight them out and make them better men."

"An honorable endeavor. Of course that doesn't change the Watch's dire situation." Tyrion commented, making the Commander nodded in agreement.

"Which is where you two come in. Both of you have some say towards the other nobility who can support the Watch. We need real masons to get the castle fully repaired, siege weapons on the wall, expert trainers and able-bodied men. With these Wildlings sightings beyond the Wall, they can't ignore such requests." Jeor remarked back.

"So what was it you and Benjen discussed? He mentioned a King or something." Geralt questioned. "From what I read there isn't another official Kings on the continent…yet know the Wildlings at proclaim one as their leader."

Jeor chuckled at the Witcher's deduction. "You did your research well. Yes, we've heard rumors of a new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Every era a new one rises up and rallies the Wildlings tribes in an effort to get through the wall. Yet have no name for this new 'King' nor any idea of his plans. Only that the Wildlings are on the move…and fast. Something is forcing them more south and working together despite all their differences."

Geralt was silent, already thinking at the causes. He remembered the Thann's remark about what would come to all who died along with the dream vision he had. Did Ciri's battle with that crown horned creature cause something to happen in the far north? "I take you have a plan then to learn more about what the Wildlings are doing then?"

"Yes. Benjen is planning to do scouting with his most trusted Rangers and head into deeper territory. Meanwhile I'll be taking new recruits beyond the Wall for patrols. If Wildlings are making moves towards the Wall, we'll know for sure and then take measures to counter them." Jeor calmly stated.

"Seems you have it all planned out. In that case the best I can do is begin working on a letter for King's Landing to inform the King and Queen of you request." Tyrion formally stated. "For now though a hot meal and warm bed is needed."

"Of course Lord Tyrion. Just speak to one of the stewards and they'll sort out your accommodations." Jeor remarked back.

Tyrion have a small smile and nod. "Thank you Commander. Anyway until next time gentlemen." The dwarf moved for the door out, leaving the office.

Geralt thought over what to say as he looked back at Jeor who quickly reviewed over some logs. "Tyrion may seem like an odd fellow, yet he means what he says. Last night's brush with the Wildlings rattled him."

"Doubt the man been in a real fight before. Don't blame him, most don't seek it." Jeor muttered.

"Didn't stop him from putting a few bolts into the raiders." Geralt remarked back.

Jeor glanced up with a small smirk. "Seems it true that everyone has a surprise up their sleeve. That aside though, I take you have some other matters to share with me."

"Guess be best to get to the point." Geralt answered. "Has there been anything odd over the last two months? Odd weather, sounds or the like from beyond the Wall?"

The Lord Commander thought for a moment before nodding. "Aye. About that time we had a fierce storm surged up from the north. We thought winter was deciding to rush in early. Nearly sent a raven out to the Maesters in New Town of the news. I had half the men on the Wall to watch out for any surprise attacks or movements from the Wildling. Yet never in all my years here did I hear such sounds…almost as if the land beyond was howling in rage."

It all sounded fitting to what Geralt had seen in his vision, showing that Ciri's fight must have happened and the creature she battled having created that storm. "I need to go beyond the Wall then." He calmly stated.

"How far?" Jeor asked curiously.

"As far and wide as I need to. There is someone I'm looking for, someone who is close and dear to me. My adoptive daughter." Geralt started. He'd go on the long tale of Ciri, excluding the magical aspects about her yet relating the prophecy about her.

Jeor sighed as he the tale ended and already the Witcher had a bad feeling. "I'm not a man who believes in myths and prophecies Geralt. Perhaps the people in your lands believe that, yet few do here." However the Commander looked into Geralt's calm yellow gaze. "Yet you…the way you speak and stare unflinching. You are serious aren't you?"

"Don't believe in fate, destiny or prophecies. All I'm trying to do is find Ciri and make sure she's alive."

"I understand you reasons. Anyone would go far for family…" Yet the mention of that had the Commander's fist tightly slightly, no doubt over a troubling memory. "But you know I can't spare the men to do what you're planning. The risks are too high and don't aid our cause…I'm sorry."

Geralt sighed, not mad on the issue. "Its fine I get it. Still was worth a try asking."

Jeor couldn't help but chuckle. "At least you're truthful on the matter. Still if the King does give us the bodies and resources, perhaps we could work together."

"If you're in agreement then expect me to strongly argue your case back at the capital. I'll beat some reason into stubborn King Robert if just to get him to listen."

Jeor chuckled at the remark. "That aside, how long do you plan to stay Geralt?"

"Plan to leave with Tyrion. Have to keep him safe and ensure a speedy return back to King's Landing. Eddard wants me at his side before they arrive after all. Still, plan to send a raven, perhaps to one of the Keeps the royal caravan will be passing through on the way south or to King's Landing incase I'm delayed."

"Then you're free to do so. We keep the ravens close to Maester's Aemon's quarters where you can write your message as well."

"Thank you Commander Jeor." Geralt moved to stand up. "If you need anything else of me just ask."

The Night's Watch Commander nodded as the Witcher moved to leave his office, yet spoke up as Geralt reached the door. "One last question. Jon Snow. Is it true about slaying his share of Wildlings?"

Geralt glanced back. "Of course it is. He maybe young, but he was naturally skilled before I came along. Has a good sense of honor and bravery about him, trait you need in this bleak place. Don't push him aside…don't waste his potential." With that said, he'd open the door and leave the room yet could see Jeor thinking thoughtfully over what was shared

…

Geralt soon found his way to the Maester's quarters which were on the other side of the inner keep. Knocking at the door, an old voice spoke out to him. "Oh…come in please."

Entering the room, it was similar to Maester's Ludwin's quarters, being half a library and study with a large bed set in one corner. Sitting at one chair was possibly the oldest man Geralt had seen in this world. He was pale, almost having paper thin skin at a glance along with short white hair that just crowned his head. The Maester's eyes were a dull pale, a sign of the man being blind as he'd look blankly at Geralt.

"At last…so you're the Witcher I've heard. Geralt of Rivia." The man remarked, his voice clear yet having an aged tremble to it. "I had a feeling you'd visit me soon after arriving."

"How do you know I'm really Geralt? You've never met him after all." The Witcher questioned.

The Maester chuckled, nodding. "True. Yet I can say I've never heard anyone step as silently and sure as you. No one here moves in such a way…and considering the tales of you...well who else could it be." Although the man did shrug. "Then again I could be guessing…an aged bluff if you will."

"Heh at least you have a sense of humor." Geralt jested, making the Maester grin in amusement. "I take your Aemon? I was told to come here to get a raven sent south."

"Yes…I can imagine you must have an important report to share. Parchment and ink are over by that desk." The Maester answered back, pointing to a writing desk across the room. "Haven't written in years, yet often my steward does that duty for me when messages need to be sent."

Already Geralt moved to the desk, getting a fresh bottle and roll of parchment out. "Sounds like you've been here for a long time Maester." He muttered as he'd get a good quill and dab it in ink to begin writing.

"Very long yes. Between the many years becoming a Maester and then coming to the Wall…nearly half my life overall." Aemon remarked.

"The path of a Maester is a long while. Luwin is quite aged and I know he took many optional topics before joining the Starks." Geralt commented as he continued to write.

"Aye…Luwin is quite a knowledge Maester. We often chatted for hours whenever the First Ranger visited Winterfell for supply and recruits. But I'd distracting us…I'm one hundred and two if the dates are correct."

The Witcher's writing paused as he'd glance at Aemon, the old Maester look towards him yet his gaze distant at the same time. "You're joking right?"

Aemon shook his head, giving a soft grin. "I do not jest you Witcher. I'll admit the lessions of Old Town helped me maintain my health, yet the Wall to me kept me enduring. Perhaps it's the fresh cool air that flows over its peak? In the end I plan to serve my duties as full as possible and advise our Lord Commander."

Geralt smirked a bit. "Heh, you remind me a bit of my own master." He muttered as he continued to write. "Vesimer was…well…the oldest Witcher I knew. Master fencer and wisest of our group. Must have been around your age until his death. You two get along I think sharing stories and picking at each other's knowledge."

"He sounds like an interesting man." Aemon remarked, nodding his head slightly. "I can tell you miss him. From how you speak of him he died fighting for what he believed in."

Geralt was surprised at Aemon's sense of empathy, especially with how the Witcher spoke bluntly in tone. Then again it was hard not to think fondly and sadly of his teacher, since even after the many months of his passing it troubled him still. "I do…yet Ciri, my adopted daughter misses him more. Still we avenged him in the end. Metaled the bastard's face off and crushed his head." He muttered, thinking back on the tense battle on the Hags Mountain.

"Yet that doesn't ease the loss does it?" Aemon calmly stated. "I know loss well. My family is all dead or lost. It is a sad truth yet one I accept and remember. Never let a memory burden you but drive your conviction to press on."

At this point he wondered if the Maester was a mind reader at this point. "What is the point of you sharing such advice with me?"

The Maester smiled softly. "Because it is what I do best and in the end master Witcher, even you need guidance."

Pausing, Geralt sighed at the aged man's answer. "Heh…want to hear a truth about me Aemon. Maybe a bit unbelievable."

"Considering the long letter I received detailing your Witcher upbringing…it must be quite the surprise."

"Truth is I'm over ninety. If you could see me I'd look about in my fourties at least, though the scars and pale skin makes that difficult at times."

Aemon was silent, yet his eyes had a thoughtful look. "The potions and experiments you went through young. The letter said they changed you yes? Physically enhanced you to peak condition. I've heard of such concoctions yet such studies have been outlawed by the Maesters for the dangerous and unethical uses it has lead. By logical such changes no doubt affect your life span, preserving your body twice as long. Yes…it makes sense and is fascinating."

"Can say I've never heard of a Witcher dying of old age. Always it comes down to the claws of a beast or the blade of another."

"As it is with most in this cruel world." Aemon muttered in agreement. "Bah, but I distract you from your work master Witcher. Finish your letter. We have plenty of time to talk later."

Geralt realized he had finish only a third of his writing, making him smirk as he'd move his quill about to continue. Soon he'd finish his message and check over it.

 _To Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of the North and new Hand of the King:  
I have arrived safely to the Wall and Castle Black yet faced another group of Wildlings. Jon and Lord Tyrion are safe yet this shows that something is stirring beyond the Wall. Lord Commander Jeor has already shared the many difficulties which I will personally share on my arriving to King's Landing with you and King Robert. Lord Tyrion also shares an interest in supporting the Night's Watch along with other matters of importance, in sight of debt for saving his life against the Wildlings. Overall be on guard and watch your daughters closely.  
From, Geralt._

Rereading his letter, he'd nod as he'd roll it up and seal it with the mark of the Night's Watch. "Where are the ravens kept?" He'd ask Aemon who had remained in his seat the whole time.

"Just out that door." The man pointed to a side door that lead to a walkway leading to the roof of the keep. "Mind Nasr though. He's a snappy one."

"Uh…right." Geralt left the room and headed up to the roof where there was a small single room set at the top, a mix of a storage and rookery for the ravens. The black birds cawed and murmured as he entered, no doubt wanting attention or the chance to spread their wings for a delivery. "Sure not like a dove." He muttered as he moved around the room, yet noticed one of the birds hop from perch to perch towards him.

"Give it here!" It suddenly said, its voice a low bellow in tone. Hoping to a spot before Geralt, letting him get a look of the bird. For one it was odd in feather color, having a gray tint about it and a chipped deep black beak. "Give it here!" It repeated before leaning in to snap at his hand, making him pull back.

"Guh! Chatty and snappy!" He growled, waving at the raven who fluttered away. "Take your Nasr huh? Trouble maker for sure."

"Yes me!" It murmured back, rocking about on the perch almost in a boasting manner.

"Smart ass too." He muttered as he'd go to another raven which was marked under King's Land. From what he understand, a Raven could only learn two locations, a destination and home. Getting his letter in a small tube and securely attaching it to the bird. "Alright…so take this to the King's Landing then."

The raven cocked its head before Geralt moved to open the cage door it was in. Quickly the raven was off, cawing as he flew away southward and out of sight.

"You smart ass!" Nasr spoke out, making Geralt look back at Nasr who gave a long cawing sound that he could only describe as chuckling.

At this rate he wondered if it was some magical bird or not yet with the Wall close by he couldn't tell. "Guh...chatter all you want." He grumbled as he'd leave the noisy room and head back into the main keep. Aemon was asleep in his chair, making Geralt shake his head in amusement, although he'd get a light blanket for the old Maester. He'd slip out of the room and head for the guest quarters, eager for a little rest after the long few days of travel.

…

Geralt woke up at the middle of the night, hearing knocking at his door. Shifting out of bed with a sigh, he'd speak up. "Ugh…what is it?" He muttered.

A familiar male voice spoke up through the door. "It's Jon. I need your help, we have an issue at the…umm…gate." Soon after there were some faint voices speaking up outside along with a wolf howling out. "Shit! Just hurry up!" Before Geralt could react, he'd heard the young man hurry off.

"Damn it…" He'd hurry to get his boots and cloak on before giving chase, ending up outside in the yard. A group of five Night's Watch recruits were surrounding something in the center, while one of the Rangers, a gruff short grey haired man spoke out from behind them. "Calm the hell down! If you panic it's only going to lash out." Jon was marching quickly up to the group while Geralt followed up behind him.

There be a snarling sound of a wolf, making Geralt approach to see a white furred wolf which he recognized as Ghost, Jon's direwolf. He realized that he had forgotten about the canine during the trip up to the Wall. No doubt the wolf had followed them secretly and from Jon's orders too.

"Back off, he's not a threat!" Jon spoke up, moving towards the group and forcing his way through to get between Ghost and the other men.

"So you know this beast Jon Snow?" The gruff man sternly questioned.

"Aye. He's mine, found and raised him when he was little more than a runt." Jon proudly answered back. "Shouldn't have try slipping him into the keep. Should have brought him with me when I arrived."

"Quite impressive boy. Still we can't have that creature about. Not enough food even to feed it." The ranger argued back.

"Then I'll helve my rations. That should be enough to feed Ghost." Jon countered back, yet already the ranger was shaking his head.

"And have you starve? You'll be skin and bones within months."

At this point Geralt spoke up, arms crossed as he'd stare down at the group. "Then you obviously don't know a direwolf's worth."

Everyone's attention was on him, the man giving a scowl towards the Witcher. "Ah…so you're the mysterious Geralt I've heard so much about." The man muttered.

"Indeed. I remember you when I arrived training the recruits. Your name being?"

"Allister Thorne, Master-At-Arms. So then Witcher, care to explain why we should let this oversized wolf take up space here?" The ranger gruffly questioned.

"Because I doubt the Watch has ever gotten a trained dire world before. Ghost is only a few months old and he's a big as any hound. His sense of smell is twice as strong and he can stalk through wilderness without leaving a trace. Even I didn't notice him trailing us from all the way from Winterfell." Geralt calmly explained. "If you ever plan to go beyond the Wall, Ghost is someone you'd want watching your back."

Thorne stared down Geralt before glancing back at Jon and Ghost. "Lord Commander Jeor spoke highly of your Witcher and the mark of the Starks proves that too." Giving a sigh, he'd gesture for the recruits to back off. "Jon Snow…you'll keep your pet in line. If it so much as nips anyone else I'll have it thrown over the Wall. Understood?"

Jon didn't like the threat the Ranger made, yet kept his calm and nodded. "Understand Ser Thorne."

"Good. Anyway men back to your posts! No more distractions tonight!" He ordered the recruits, making them hurry back to their varying positions along the castle walls and towers. Thorne would march off for the keep, no doubt to report to the Commander about the dire wolf.

Jon sighed before petting Ghost's head, the wolf relaxing as well after that tense standoff. "Thank you for stepping in." He thanked Geralt.

"Should have told me along the way. Ghost could have been shot at by one of the men." Geralt complained back. "I understand your reasons, yet this was a stupid and risky move."

"It worked out though." Jon argued back.

"This time. Better to be up front instead of working behind others, especially with those who can help you."

Ghost gave a small tilt of his head looking at Jon, almost as if taking the Witcher's side, making Jon sigh. "Fine…you have a point."

"First day and you're already making enemies too considering how you snapped at Thorne. I'll admit he's an ass, yet despite it he takes his duty seriously."

"From what Benjen told me he'll be drilling the new comers like me."

Geralt thought for a moment, nodding. "Then expect me to come watch. Curious to see how the Watch handles training and to make sure you don't cause any issues."

Jon gave a confused look and questioning chuckle. "Issues? What are you meaning?"

"Your rashness that's what. I saw how you eyed everyone and had your hand down at your sword. A part of you wanted to fight them, put your skills to the test. I know you could match up with most of the men here, yet I didn't train you just to misuse your skills." Geralt sternly explained.

"Why not? I need to show the Lord Commander I have the talent to be a Ranger!"

"I thought Benjen was going to accept you as one?" Geralt questioned.

Jon grumbled and glanced away at the mention. "Such a promotion is seen as…favoritism here, especially for noble born recruits, even bastards like me."

"Makes sense. Yet you know there is more to being a Ranger then fighting prowess. You have to show you have leadership and trust with your fellow brothers. Don't know how Thorne is a ranger, yet his form of leadership is through force and threat, something you shouldn't copy."

The young man was silent as he'd stretch Ghost behind the ears. "So what do you expect me to do?"

"Simple, train with the others like I did with you. Don't focus on beating them down but teach them what you know. They'll respect you more in the long run, even if it takes longer."

Jon nodded before glancing at Ghost. "Thanks for the advice Geralt. Anyway I should get Ghost settled in before he causes any more trouble. Also sorry for waking you up."

The Witcher smirked before turning to leave. "See you in the morning Jon." Reentering the keep, he'd return to his room and fall back into bed, sleeping the rest of the night away.

…

Geralt woke up early as usual, getting dressed in his mix of Witcher armor and light northerner clothing. He'd take just his steel sword for today while leaving his new cloak behind since it was going to be warmer today. Heading outside, the yard was empty at the moment, giving Geralt some time for himself. He'd check the open armory nearby where the most basic weapons where kept, finding the quality of gear to be quite lacking.

"Hardly any better then what those Wildlings had…" He muttered as he'd draw one of the swords to see just how worn out the weapon was. If this was the best the Watch had, then they were in serious trouble. "Better off giving them butter knives." Putting the weapon back, he'd soon hear the rest of the men getting up for training and chores. Heading back to the yard, he'd see Jon being the first out followed by Thorne and other rangers along with the young fit recruits.

"Alright everyone! Split into groups of three or four. Time to see what you new comers have to offer!" He ordered out. Everyone began to form into their own groups yet Thorne quickly spoke up to Jon. "Except you boy. You'll be part of my group."

Jon was silent yet stepped over to the Master-At-Arm's group which had three others already part of it. One was a dirty blonde haired young man, tall and sturdy looking from farming work. The other was a bearded fellow with a shifty look in his eyes, the oldest of this group of recruits. The last was a thin and well-kept young man who seemed the most calm of the group.

"Alright. Training armor and blades all of you." Allister ordered, pointing out to the ranks of training gear set aside. The group were quite to arm themselves and regroup, which at this point Geralt stepped up close, getting Thorne's attention. "Here to observe Witcher?"

"Just curious. Don't mind me." Geralt simply answered back.

"Of course." Thorne muttered before waving to Jon. "You're up first. Let's see what a castle raised bastard can do."

Jon didn't say anything, only taking a moment to fix up his training armor before stepping into the middle of their group circle. He'd eye the group of other recruits, trying to figure which one was the toughest or most skilled.

"Grenn, you first." Thorne ordered, making the dirty blonde haired man step up. Holding up his sword, it was obvious he didn't know how to wield it right because of his wide stance and low sword arm. Jon took his usual fighting stance, yet spoke up suddenly as Grenn seemed tense to charge.

"Hold your sword up higher."

Grenn gave a confused look, followed by the other recruits. Allister's look was passive, yet curious on what was going on. "What?" The young farmer remarked.

"Your sword arm is too low. If you attack it will be too obvious and if you try to defend you won't be fast enough." Jon explained. "If you just move your hand-"

"Jon Snow! What are the hell are you doing?" Allister snapped out. "You're supposed to spar, not chatter."

Jon looked at Thorne and then back Glenn. "Teaching him how to fight. You don't expect him to charge at me right?"

"It's my job to teach fighting Jon, not yours." Thorne argued.

Geralt smirked at remark. "Then by all mean's Master-At-Arms. Finish what Jon was about to say."

The Night's Watchman gave an annoyed look at Geralt before looking to Grenn who was still very confused on what was being argued over. "As Jon was saying. You should have your sword arm up more, hand by the hip and sword tilted forward. It's a basic on guard stance." He explained.

"Umm…like so?" Glenn shifted his stance as he got his arm into the proper position.

"Yes like that. At least you can listen to directions despite being thick headed. Now then fight!"

Grenn was the one to make the first move, giving a yell as he lunged in for a stab. Jon was faster though, back stepping and blocking the attack. Grenn stepped up, grasping his blade with both hands as he'd slash out, but the attack was wide and made it easy for Jon to parry. The young recruit stumbled back from the parry while Jon stepped up, sword up as he'd slash at Grenn's face, yet stopping inches from striking across his nose.

"Not bad. Still shouldn't have hesitated and gone with the hit." Thorne remarked as Jon shifted back while Grenn gave a small sigh of relief, even scratching the bridge of his nose in a hint of worry.

"Broken nose isn't going to do him any good." Jon answered back.

Thorne stared down Jon before shrugging. "Fine then. Alright, another round then!"

Again Jon and Grenn would spar, yet Jon fought defensively against the young man. Over time Grenn started to improve on his attacks and his own defense whenever Jon attacked back. In the end though Jon won as he'd land a solid strike across Grenn's chest, driving a grunt out of the sturdy recruit yet the training armor softened the blow.

Geralt was silent as Thorne directed the other two recruits, the gruff breaded one being Rast while the thin one was named Pypar. Over time the four rotated between each other, Jon subtly teaching basic moves and stances with whoever he paired up. Thorne watched, not saying much except for when to rotate groups. Overall he seemed bored with the training, no doubt wanting the recruit to just beat each other senseless with their blunt swords.

"Alright that's enough now!" He called out. "At least all the three of you can manage a sword. Jon here though shouldn't hold back so much though." Pausing, he'd continue to speak. "Clean your gear up and get it set in the armory. Dismissed." With that the Master-At-Arms left the group for the main keep.

"Quite the ass isn't he…" Pypar muttered to Jon with a small chuckle as they'd head for the main armory.

"A predictable one considering." Jon agreed with a small smirk.

"So wait you were seriously holding back?" Grann questioned as he joined up with the two. "Thought I was doing well considering."

"What you didn't notice. Jon here was dancing all around you the whole times while you were waving that sword about." Pypar jested, making Grann give a small annoyed growl and swipe at him with one fist although the slim recruit ducked to avoid it with ease.

Rast at this point spoke up, being the quietest one of the group. "So who taught you to fight like that?" He asked Jon.

"My father Eddard Stark, Sir Rodrik the Master-of-Arms of Winterfell and the man just behind you. Geralt of Rivia, a recent and trusted friend to my family."

The bearded man gulped as he'd glance back at Geralt, a nervous look showing when he got an up close look of the Witcher. Seeing the yellow cat like eyes really unsettled him, oddly more than most people the Witcher had met so far. "Not natural those eyes." Rast muttered as he'd hurry away from Geralt.

As the group reached the door of the main armory, Jon stop to quickly talk to Geralt. "Thanks for the advice from last night. Did work out quite well."

"Surprised Allister kept his calm during all that. Bet he was trying to think of an excuse to get you punished." Geralt chuckled. "Still, be careful around him. He's the type of man who doesn't like competition or his authority to be challenged."

Jon nodded in agreement before heading into the armory where already Grann was questioning him Geralt and his life in Winterfell. Seemed already the young man was getting along with his fellow recruits quite well, although something had Geralt questioning Rast's odd behavior.

As he moved to return for his room, before one of the Night's Watch Stewards approached him. "Master Geralt. Lord Commander Jeor and Maester Aemon wish to speak with you on important matters."

"Of course. I'll see them immediately." The Witcher answered back, making the steward nod and hurry off to his other duties. Geralt entered the keep and once more headed for Jeor's office. Inside the room he'd see Maester Aemon sitting beside him and Tyrion who was sitting in the same seat from before. The dwarf looked to Geralt and giving a small smile to the Witcher in greeting.

"You arrived quickly." He remarked while Geralt moved to sit beside him.

"Just finished watching training. Didn't have any other plans for the day."

Jeor nodded as he'd gather up some papers and slide them over. "Good because we have a lot to discuss. In like of your support, we've compiled a few lists that could aid the Night's Watch. Please take a close look."

Both Tyrion and Geralt shifted through the papers which were split into different sections. Weapons, armor, supplies, specialists and more were detailed. It was overall a quite sizable list, yet considering the Watch's sorry state, all of it seemed required by the Witcher's thinking. Both took their time reading over the lists, yet after a while Tyrion whispered to Geralt. "They are asking for a lot…"

"And this is just managing the middle section of the Wall. Imagine if all three of the main castles were being manned. This list would be tripled in the costs." Geralt muttered back. "Shows why so many cuts were made to the Watch over the decades, even more when considering the Wildlings haven't been active until recent years."

"It take years to get all of this sorted out, that is if King Robert accepts these terms or the capital even has the funds to support it."

"Ah of course…budgets." Geralt muttered as he'd had the lists piled together and put aside. Look to Jeor, the Commander had kept a solid gaze at the two while Aemon stared into the distance, although he had an alert look on his aged face.

"Lord Commander. While I see everything on these lists as required, it will be hard to arrange everything considering the transportation distances and such." Tyrion explained to the Commander.

"I fully understand that. Overall if I can get a fraction of what was detailed it be a good start. Yet I feel providing proof may win Robert over." Jeor calmly stated. "The Thenn's axe will be worthwhile and if Benjen's scouting pays off, we may have more to show to the King."

"When did he leave?" Geralt questioned, curious since he had seen the First Ranger just yesterday.

"Last night before dawn. Benjen took only a few of his best men and went to scout the region the deserter had detailed. If we can find the bodies of his fellow brothers, we may find clues on what killed them…that is if their intact."

"It would have been a month since the deserter's scouting party disappeared. Why did it take this long for a serious effort to be done?" Geralt questioned.

Jeor sighed at the Witcher's harsh question. "Often such small scouting parties disappear, either be it ambushes, the wilderness or simply them running off. There have been rare cares of Night's Watch joining the Wildlings, yet the last confirmed case was decades ago. We rather not send good men or waste resources on such cases, yet with the increased Wildling encounters, that will change from now on."

"Glad you're taking this seriously." Geralt remarked although Jeor's expression hardened at the remark.

"I've always taken my duty here seriously Geralt. I've dedicated most of my life to the Watch and will tend to it until my passing. So long as I can command, swing a sword and walk…nothing with stop me."

"He meant no offence Commander." Tyrion pipped in, trying to calm the situation. "Overall this will take time, yet I assure you aid will come. I think after Benjen returns we will make haste of King's Landing and present your requests to King Robert."

"Good. Anyway there is nothing else left to discuss on the matter. For now continue to explore Castle Black and perhaps visit the top of the Wall when you get a chance. Again, thank you for your time gentlemen."

Both nodded as they'd get up to leave, yet in the hallway Tyrion spoke up to Geralt. "So when should we go to the top of the wall?"

"Heh I thought that was going to be the first thing you'd do when you came here." Geralt questioned.

"Just waiting for the right chance. Perhaps we can get Jon to come along, have a little goodbye party before we leave. That will be a memorable event!"

"Doubt the Night's Watch throws parties there...gets freezing at night time from what I heard."

"Bah…details details." Tyrion dismissed. "Just leave the planning to me while you keep Jon out of trouble and manage other manners." With that said the dwarf hurried off, leaving Geralt grumbling.

"From political agent to a party fiend…swear he's going to get me into trouble one of these days." Geralt decided to head off to the castle's libery. He wondered if the old tomes had any new stories or facts that he could research about the land beyond the Wall or perhaps answer who and what the creature Ciri had fought in his dreams.

…

The time in the library had been interesting, yet drew no success. Overall the books just gave more detailed recounting of the creation of the Wall, the building of its many keeps and the formation of the Night's Watch. Anything about the Child or the White Walkers were vague, making them sound more like obscure cultures then true supernatural beings. Yet the Wall was proof of magical influence, just he so far found no true answer to its creation. His medallion had humming and shaking constantly since arriving to the fortress, forcing him to keep gripping it to calm the enchanted item. After spending half the day and most of the night studying, he retired for the night and would awaken in the late morning just as Watchmen were finishing their training.

When he headed outside though, he'd see Jon guarding an overweight young man wearing an oversized set of training armor and looked bruised up from being beaten. Grenn, Pypar and Rast were all roughed up by the way they gripped at their guts or sides, panting in pain by the looks of it. Behind them Allister had an annoyed look on his face.

"Fine then 'Lord' Snow. If you care about Lord Piggy here, then you two can get night duty on the Wall. Expect you up there by sunset. If not then it's laterine digging for everyone here. Dismissed!" The Master-At-Arms marched off to the keep, passing by Geralt who he didn't even glance or speak too.

As Geralt approached the group, Jon moved to check on his companions who he chatted with, although Rast ignored Jon as he grabbed his sword and hurried off for the armory. "What the heck happened?" Geralt questioned.

At this point the chubby recruit spoke up. "I-It's my fault. Sir Allister wanted me to f-fight and I failed miserly. Couldn't even take a single hit Rast threw." Bowing his head, he'd sigh. "I am a coward like father says…"

Jon could tell Geralt was confused, giving a small sigh and waved over at the fat recruit. "He is Samwell Tarly of Hornhill…well…was. Allister wanted to see what he could do, so he paired him with Rast. Knocked Sam down with one blow and beat him while he was down. I sort of…stepped in and Thorne ordered the others to fight me as some punishment."

"Didn't want to do it." Grenn muttered as he rubbed his sore gut. "Could have pulled that kick a bit more.

"Heh not as bad a Rast got. Solid blow to the groin. May explain why he was quiet, didn't want to share his new high pitched voice." Pypar chuckled. Everyone chuckled at Pypar's jest, although the young man always seemed to be the one with the best jokes to share.

"So night shift on the Wall. Seems this is a blessing in disguise. Tyrion was looking for a good moment to have his little Wall party, so what better then tonight." Geralt suggested after a moment of thought.

Jon and Sam looked surprised at the idea. "You're joking right?" The young Stark chuckled, doubtful about the Witcher's idea. Yet seeing Geralt's deadpan look, they realized he was serious.

Pypar smirked at the idea as he'd tug Grenn forward. "Are we invited? Always enjoyed parties. You've ever gone to a part Grenn."

"Well…festival once or twice." Grenn muttered, feeling as if he was being roped into more trouble.

Smirking, Geralt shrugged at the two. "Doubt Tyrion complain. Never is against fresh company."

"Think the dwarf's habits are rubbing off onto you." Jon chuckled as Geralt moved for the keep.

"I'd soon blame my old friend Dandelion for such a habit."

"Heh, with a name like that I bet. Never told me you had friends back home." Jon remarked.

"Well now you know. I'll tell you more tonight!" Geralt left the four recruits who were chattering about, Sam being shy yet welcomed by the trio. Heading for the keep, he'd head for Tyrion's room yet found the dwarf just about to leave. "Hold on a moment Tyrion."

The Lannister glanced at Geralt with a curious look, yet noting the small smile the Witcher had. "Let me guess, you have a crazy idea that will surely piss off someone stuck up and important."

"Heh…how you guessed that?"

"Master Witcher, knowing such matters is a hobby of mine. Now please share the details."

…

Night time cloaked the Wall and Castle Black, with the sky being clear and the northern winds being low for once. At the high top of the Wall though, a bright fire was burning and the sound of laughter could be heard as the small gathering enjoyed the view. With a little smuggling between the six, they had snuck up their dinner rations and Tyrion's last bottle of wine to enjoy the night away while sharing stories.

"So wait? You joined the Night's Watch because you thought it be a good career?" Tyrion chuckled after Grenn finished his tale about joining.

"Farm life just wasn't for me. After all grew up not knowing my real parents. Ma and pa told me I was a strong one, should try the soldiering life…yet always heard stories about the Wall and Night's Watch. Thought it be the best choice." The young man sighed as he'd eye his cup of wine, gulping it down with a sigh. "Last time I believe stories like that."

"Heh, don't worry yourself. Jon he was just as naïve about the Watch. Took half a dozen people to put some sense into his head." Tyrion jested, making Jon give an annoyed look to the dwarf. "What it's true."

Jon sighed, rolling his eyes a bit but grinning in the end. "Fine I did." He'd gaze at Sam next who had been the quietest of the bunch. "What about you Samwell? What drove you to come take the Black?"

"You said you're a Tarly? I remember reading about that House when studying about Robert's Rebellion. Randyll Tarly was the only commander to beat Robert's forces, although it didn't change the overall outcome." Geralt remarked.

Sam sighed and shrugged. "Yes father always went on and on about that. He's lucky Robert thought to spare our family despite siding with the Targaryen's, guess out of respect or something." Shaking his head. "Father didn't appreciate my focus in books and learning calling it 'womanly'. Yet when it became my naming day he…promise we'd go on a hunt in the woods and…well…kill me…make it look like an accident. So gave me a choice, stay for the hunt or go join the Night's Watch which I'm…here."

The dark tale had everyone silent, giving awkward looks between each other. "Well…not the worst noble disowning tale I've heard." Geralt suddenly remarked. "Still, sounds like your father is a bit short sighted considering."

"Always consider marital prowess and tactics over anything else." Sam chuckled nervously.

"Pride only gets you so far. Seen it be the bane of a dozen nobles in my life."

"Bah enough about nobles and disowning. Sure the Night's Watch isn't perfect yet look at you all…loyal brothers in arms." Tyrion quickly pipped in. The young recruits nodded in agreement as the dwarf got the wine bottle and refilling their cups until the glass was empty. "In the end you are the future of the Seven Kingdoms. The first guard against the savage Wildlings and the unseen threats of the harsh wastes!"

"To us!" The recruits chanted out, even the shy Sam joining in. Everyone gulped down their drinks, although as Tyrion finished his, he'd set his cup aside on an icy formation and move towards the small path leading to the edge of the Wall. "Anyway…just one thing to do. I made a promise back in Winterfell that I plan to keep."

Jon shook his head. "Well if you are, don't trip over the edge while you're at it."

"Oh my sister love to hear that news, yet I plan to disappoint." Tyrion answered back as he'd round the corner for a little privacy, already fiddling with his belt along the way.

Geralt sighed as everyone laughed. "Sadly I need to keep an eye on him. Be back soon." He'd hurry to follow after the dwarf while the group continued chatting about.

Rounding the corner, he could hear Tyrion sigh and the trickle of…well…fluids. He'd hang, just seeing the dwarf's cloaked back as he relieved himself. "Ahh…you know you should do this yourself. No doubt a man gets to piss over the edge of the world." The Lannister remarked as he finished up and fixed his pants.

"Sadly not on my bucket list." Geralt answered back with a smirk. "Still, may get a chance when I come back around."

"So you say." Tyrion sighed as he'd tighten his belt, yet suddenly squint his eyes as he noticed something odd far below in the darkness. "Either my eyes are seeing things or that is torch light."

Curious, Geralt stepped up to the Wall's edge and used his sharp vision to see far below through the dark. Indeed there was a light trailing through the line of trees and crossing the vast open space that distanced the Wall. It seemed a group of riders by the pace they moved.

"Sound the horn!" Jon spoke out, showing that the group had noticed the light despite their festivities. Someone among group hurried along, blowing one of the nearby signal horns once to alert of returning Night's Watch. Other yells could be heard of the other night shift guards along the other portions of the Wall as everyone became active at this point.

Geralt looked to Tyrion who had a more serious look about him. "Best we head back down as soon as possible." The dwarf nodded in agreement as the two headed for the grand elevator down, yet ran into Jon was heading for it.

"I'm going too. Need to be sure it's Benjen." The young man explained.

"Allister will have you flogged for trying to leave Wall duty. I understand your reasons, yet you need to stay up here. Could be troubling following whoever is returning." Geralt answered back.

"I hate it when you're right sometime Geralt." Jon sighed. "Fine I'll stay…yet when sunrise comes I'm heading down."

Geralt nodded as he'd open the door of the large wooden and metal elevator before stepping in, Tyrion following in. Tugging the call cord, the contraption quickly began to descend. Jon watched them giving a short wave before returning to rejoin his group. "I expected Benjen to come back in the morning. Wonder what drove him to come in the middle of the night."

"Well soon see Geralt. Best not to think of the worst outcome."

"It's habit to think that way for me." The Witcher muttered as they neared the bottom. Castle Black was lit up as most of the men were active, almost ready for an assault. Despite how understaffed and equip they were, they were quick to react and serious over this unexpected arrival. No doubt Jeor had drilled the men for such a situation. In fact the Lord Commander was at the for front, giving orders as the men were getting the massive iron gate that blocked off the long tunnel leading to the other side opened.

Just as Geralt and Tyrion arrived at the bottom, the heavy gate began to raise as the trio of riders came forward. First thing Geralt noticed was that they had two bodies slung over the back of their saddles. The leading rider tugged off a black face mask and hood to reveal it was Benjen. Hopping off his horse, he approached Jeor and quickly spoke to him while his fellow Rangers pulled the bodies off their mounts. At this point, both men looked to Geralt and Tyrion as the two came into view. "Witcher. Glad you're here. We could use your expertise on this matter." Jeor spoke out.

"Let me guess. To examine the bodies?" He questioned back, getting a nod from both the Lord Commander and First Ranger. "Guess I'm the most qualified next to the Maester yet his…blindness no doubt complicates that."

"Maester Aemon will be present during the examination. His vision maybe gone yet his mind is sharp enough to understand a detailed description." Benjen explained. "We'll have everyone prepared in a few minutes. Check at the infirmary when you're ready." He'd then move to join his fellow Ranger, directing them to the keep while Jeor ordered the men to close the iron gates of the tunnel along with having Watchmen settle down after the alarm.

"Seems celebration is over." Tyrion muttered. "I'll talk with the First Ranger and Lord Commander, see what lease they can share about this scouting mission."

"Appreciated." Geralt simply answered as he'd head off to his room to gather a few of her personal tools before finding the infirmary. The one of the rangers remained as a guard and tender for Maester Aemon who sat close to two worn tables that the bodies lay on. Overall the infirmary was very basic yet at least well stocked, although most of the bottles and supplies seemed very untouched, showing the Watch rarely had serious injuries or sickness break out.

The old Maester gave a soft smile and he heard the Witcher walk in, his gaze loosely following Geralt's path to the examination tables. "I take you've done an autopsy before? I'll admit for me it's been many decades since I've handled one back in Old Town." Aemon remarked.

"A few times. Last time it was tracking down a serial killer who harmed a friend of mine. Had a quite experienced doctor though to help me during it." Geralt answered back as he'd stand beside one of the tables. The two corpses was pretty much frozen stiff after a month exposed to the elements, yet at the least it had preserved it over that time. One corpse was intact yet the other had been beheaded, with the limb itself set beside body. "Either they were secluded or no scavengers where lurking around…which is odd." Glancing at the ranger, he'd continue to speak. "How far away where they from the Wall? Also who are these two anyway?"

"At least a day away on foot and half by horse." The ranger stated. "We did a spread out formation, keeping in sight yet covering plenty of ground. Slow process because of the pace yet that is what helped us find them. As for their names…I know the one with the head was a new comer is Waymar Royce of the Vale. Joined recent and got handed a Ranger position within the month." Pausing, the Ranger looking at the headless corpse. "That one is Gared. Tough old bastard and a capable ranger. Must have been caught off guard or outmatched to lose his head like that."

"Interesting…" Geralt muttered as he'd focus back on the bodies. "Can't tell what killed the intact one, may need to thaw him a bit to get a better examination. That could take a day if I have the right conditions set." Looking to the beheaded body though, he'd study the stump of the neck. "Clean cut. One swing from what I can tell. Whoever did this was incredibly strong and a fine bladed weapon."

"Thann's are the only group to have fine steel weapons. Most favor axes. Does the wound match such a weapon?" Aemon questioned.

"Can't tell. Wound is just too old and chilled from a month of exposure. Thann be the best bet yet that doesn't explain why they left the bodies."

"Ahh yes…the rumored claim of them being cannibals. I take they weren't looted as well?"

The Ranger nodded. "Indeed. Everyone had their swords and daggers still. Wildlings are scavengers overall and take every chance to get new weapons when they can."

"So, a group of Wildlings ambush the deserter's scouting party. They kill one and brutally kill the other in front of the deserter if his story is to be believed, yet simply let him go…maybe as a warning? Doesn't add up."

"New group then? Tons of Wildling tribes, heck we keep finding new ones every few years." The Ranger remarked.

"Unless these types are mindless ferals, I doubt it." Geralt argued back. "Again I need the bodies thawed for a full examination. Have one idea that I remember from Skellige, a northern island nation where I came from. Going to need some metal containers and coals along with some burning oil to help create steam. Should allow for a gradual thawing without damaging the bodies."

Aemon nodded, seeming to agree with the plan. "An interesting idea overall. See to it that Geralt gets everything he requires." The Maester said to the Ranger who nodded before moving to help Aemon out of his seat.

"Just wait here Master Witcher." The Ranger answered back as he'd guide the Maester out, leaving Geralt alone.

Sighing, he'd glance back at the two bodies. "Nothing adds up." He muttered as he'd pace around the table, one hand touching his medallion which was humming intensely again. "Damn thing still won't calm down. Can't even check for lingering magic if any was involved. Need at least a few miles away from the Wall to do that." After a few minutes waiting, the Ranger returned with the items the Witcher had requested, which he took off the Watchman's hands.

"Certain this is going to work?"

"Small chance the bodies could just…rapidly decay. Have seen it happen before." Geralt casually remarked as he placed the metal tins around the before carefully pouring oiling into the coal inside of them. With the Ranger distracted, he'd make the Igni sign to light the tins up before getting the lids mostly closed so steam funneled out into the room. "Anyway, should keep the place shut up. Need to keep a few windows open just to air it out yet not let cool air in." If anything he was more of talking to himself as the Ranger simply nodded as he watched Geralt get the few windows cracked open slightly. "I'll have to make sure the coals are refilled every couple of hours. Overall they should be thawed out by tomorrow night." He'd move to leave the infirmary, the Ranger following out yet making sure to lock the door behind them. Turning to the ranger, he'd have one hand out. "Hand me the door key. If I'm correct only Aemon and the Lord Commander have other copies."

The Ranger seemed hesitant yet he'd give a sigh and handed the iron key over. "I'll report this to them both. I trust you'll not lose it."

Pocketing the key, he'd nod. "Of course. I doubt either of them will disagree." The ranger simply shrugged before he'd departing, leaving Geralt alone. Considering the busy night, he decided to head for his room and sleep in to morning. By then it be a good chance to check on the bodies along with discus what could have happened with the others.

…

Geralt spend most of the day either in his room or checking up on the corpses in the infirmary, making sure the thawing was going well along with replacing the spent coals. He had expected the Lord Commander to call for a meeting, yet none came as the day went by. Over the course of the day he did see Jon and Tyrion yet they seemed busy considering how they were moving about the castle, no doubt related to last night's events. Soon the evening crept in and by this point Castle Black had calmed down, the yard being empty as the sun was setting.

"Should be time about now." Geralt muttered as he'd head outside and down to the lower levels of the keep for the infirmary. On the way there though, he'd nearly run into someone out on the walkway down to the yard. He'd quickly realize it was Jon who had a quite surprised look on his face and a tired hint showing in his eyes. "Didn't expect you to be up still." The Witcher remarked.

"Uncle Benjen had me taking care of certain matters. I did alert his arrival first, so I guess I'm getting a lot of attention." Jon answered.

"If anything Tyrion saw the Rangers arriving first." Geralt corrected, making Jon frown.

"Doesn't count…" He muttered while the Witcher chuckled. "Anyway what are you doing at this hour?"

"Checking up on the corpses. Should be thawed by now." Already he'd move by Jon and down the stairs, yet the young man followed along. "Don't have to come along."

"What, no lesson to share this time?"

"Not this time. Still can't stop you from tagging along." By now they'd near the infirmary, yet once the door came into view Geralt would stop suddenly. The door into the room was opened, lingering steam just flowing out through the cold evening air. Already the Witcher was on guard as he approached the door, one hand grasping his sword for a possible ambush as he'd peek inside. "Damn it!" He growled as he stomped into the room, gaze set on the table which was missing one corpse, Waymar's corpse.

"What is wrong?" Jon questioned before following in, seeing the empty table as well. "Uhh…where is one of your corpses? You didn't accidently melt it did you?" Despite the jesting remark, Jon seemed just as confused and worried.

"It wouldn't decay into nothing if that's what you're joking about. Be a gory mess behind if that happened." Geralt muttered as he paced around, sharp eyes looking for any clues on the floor or nearby furniture. "Only three keys to this place and whoever did this had only four hours of time move the bodies, yet they'd be easily spotted by someone outside. Doubt the Lord Commander or Aemon just decided to dispose of one of them without informing me." His attention shifted to the door itself, checking the lock. "Huh…switch lock on the inside."

"Meant for emergencies from my understanding. If there is an attack, the injured can lock the door from the inside and then unlock it once everything has cleared up." Jon explained. "Wait…you're not thinking it was open from the inside?"

"Unless someone stole one of the other keys it's the only explanation. Whoever it was would have had to sneak in while I was checking the steamers which takes me only a few minutes. No one is that skilled to get me in such tight quarters."

Jon shook his head. "Then what? Did your corpses just get up and walk out? Should we go tell everyone to look out for a man without a head?"

Despite the young man's chuckle, Geralt had a serious look about him that made Jon quiet down quickly. "I think I may need my silver blade for once." Already he'd step out of the room, trying to think over what could be going on. "Can't be necromancy. Too much preparation and noise involved…along with a lack of a mage."

"Geralt what in the Hells are you talking about?" Jon questioned as the Witcher was already moving up to the upper floor of the keep, heading for his room. "You can be serious about the dead just….getting up and walking away."

"Has happened before in my experience." He calmly remarked. "Just don't know how it's possible in this case." Going down the hallway towards his room, Geralt paused as he noticed that the door was open. Calmly, he'd draw his blade and move closer to the door. Suddenly a figure lunged at him, making him quickly step aside as the figure slammed into the stone wall, giving a deep inhuman growl. In the low light he recognized the figure to be Waymar, yet his eyes were different having a low blue color to the irises. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, stabbing the walking corpse right through the gut, yet Waymar didn't even flinch as enchanted steel pierced through his thawed guts. "Stay back!" Geralt warned Jon was stood by baffled at what he just saw, while the Witcher ducked a heavy swipe from the reanimated corpse. Again his blade slashed out, dismembering the swung arm but yet again the undead Ranger didn't react to his injury. Once more the thing lunged at Geralt, forcing the Witcher to get his sword arm up to shove the thing back. Pushing his arm under its chin, it growl and snarl as he pinned it against the hallway wall. Bringing his other hand up, he made the Igni sign as a focused stream of fire jetted out, setting Waymar's head on fire. This time the thing howled out and thrashed, forcing Geralt back as the thing struggled to put out the flames yet only spreading it across its body. Stumbling towards the Witcher and Jon, both backed off as its pace slowed until it flew forward a smoldering mess.

"You…you just shot fire out of your hand…" Jon muttered in shock.

Geralt gave an odd glance to the young man as he'd sheath his sword, stepping closer to the corpse which he gave a light kick with his foot. "You just saw a walking murderous corpse and that's your first concern?" He muttered as he looked back at Jon, who seemed to be ready to answer back yet remained silent.

"Anyway yes I can conquer fire. I'll tell you more later…" Already footsteps and alert voices could be heard, no doubt people drawn by the sounds of fighting and undead Waymar's shrieking. Lord Commander Jeor was the one leading the group and just one glance of the scene had a stern questioning look showing in those eyes. "This is going to be hard to explain…" Geralt sighed.

…

 **Notice: Sorry for the delayed post. Been a busy two weeks at work and with other matters. This chapter really condensed a lot of events that happened at Castle Black along with readapting some original scenes. Overall think Geralt's and Ciri's arrival in Westeros to have triggered a butterfly affect which is my reasoning to why certain events are playing out differently and so on. Overall I hope this oversized chapter will please everyone! Anyway next week it's off to King's Landing! Expect some fan favorite characters to make an appearance along with a surprise guest. Please PM and review your thoughts!**


	11. S1-E10: The Long Ride South

**Chapter Ten: The Long Ride South**

Geralt sat calmly on the cot in the cell, silently staring at the floor while Jon paced around before him. At times he'd glance up at the young man, seeing the way Jon looked between door of the prison hold and the Witcher. Jeor had been quick to lock to two up as a precaution, thinking Geralt had just skilled one of his men. Geralt had been quick to explain the disappearance of Waymar's corpse and being attacked by it at his room. The Lord Commander was at best doubtful at the claim yet decided on a roll check with everyone at the castle while he had both Geralt and Jon isolated. Overall it was a logical move and gave Geralt time to think over what had happened.

At this point Jon sighed as he'd stop before the Witcher, a serious look on his face. "Alright…tell me what happened? I remember all your talk about how magic exists from where you come from yet I didn't think it was literal. Also what was it that you just killed?!"

"Well I can say it wasn't like anything I've seen back home. Nothing like a necrophage from back home." He muttered back.

"Necro-what?"

Sighing, Geralt continued to talk. "A type of monster, unnatural creatures that feed off the corpses and the living. Anyway only other explanation is a curse. Remember once finding this manor in a woods…strange place full of dried corpses that rose up to attack me. Not as tough as the thing I burned though or as mindless."

"Sounds like a crazy tale there." Jon muttered.

"Quite. Yet another story for another time. Point is yes…I have magic. Back home it's very basic compared to others yet here I'd seem like a mage to you." He'd flex his left hand, quickly making the Igni sign as the nearby candle flames suddenly go out. Jon quickly glanced at them as Geralt made the Sign again, making them light back up once more. "Seems Signs work better while I'm close to the Wall. Sort of like I'm drawing from the magic it has."

"Is that why you've been holding your medallion so much? I can see it shaking now that I look at it."

Geralt nodded as he'd remove the wolf head piece, handing it to Jon. Grasping it, the young man was surprised feeling in vibrate, making him grip it tightly before handing it back. "Anyway…I do have an idea on what happened to Waymar. How much did you study up on the old tales of the First Men and Children?"

"Nothing more than bed time stories. Remember all the stories of the war between them against the White Walkers when I was younger." Jon answered back.

"About right." Geralt muttered with a shrug. "Yet what do the tales say about the Walkers? The terrible magic and power they are said to have?"

Jon had that doubting look to Geralt, unsure what the Witcher was getting at. "Said they bring winter with them, the Long Night as it is called because of how the sun is blocked out. Just their presence has…" The young man paused, a hint of realization showing in his eyes. "…has the dead rise up serve them. You not saying a myth did this?"

"I think it's more of an omen. Think about it. The sudden storm two months ago, the story of the deserter and the Wildlings coming south. Something is serious is stirring beyond the Wall and I fear the Night's Watch will be unprepared for whatever it is."

"It's not me you have to convince but Jeor and my uncle. That thing didn't even flinch when you gutted and dismembered it…I don't know how to explain that."

"I'll figure something out." By this time, the door to the holding cells opened as Lord Commander Jeor and First Ranger Benjen walked in followed by three other rangers. Stopping at the barred door of their cell, Jeor nodded for one of the rangers to unlock it before entering.

"We checked with everyone. No one is missing, so we can conclude you didn't just murder one of our own." The gruff man bluntly stated. "So you claim Waymar's body came back to life and left the infirmary. If that is so why was he at your room?"

Geralt shrugged. "Not sure. I can't explain why or how…only that it happened."

Jeor sighed at the answer. "It's hard to believe yet the only reasoning to believe. So far the news of this incident has been limited between the higher ranks. This matter will be kept confidential for now." He'd look to Jon with a serious gaze. "I trust you Jon Snow will keep silent as well on the matter?"

"Of course sir, since it is your order." The young man muttered.

"It's a mistake to hide this." Geralt warned to the Lord Commander.

"I understand your concern, yet in the end you must understand moral here is low as it is. How many men will believe that a month long frozen corpse got up and tried to kill someone without seeing it with their own eyes? Perhaps in time we will…but for now secrecy is needed."

The Witcher was silent after that answer, yet he'd nod before standing up. "So do you expect me to keep quiet as well?"

"I can't force you Witcher. All I ask is you refrain from discussing the matter here. Tell Lord Tyrion out on the road or even share it with Lord Eddard…yet it's up to them to make of your claim." Pausing, he'd gesture to the door out of the cell. "Besides that you're free to go."

Geralt nodded as he'd move to leave the cell, he stopped when he passed by Jeor. "I recommend you burn the other body. Just to be sure. Keep that in mind Lord Commander." With that, he'd leave in the holding cells, yet heard Benjen speaking to Jon, seeming to have an important matter to discuss. Heading outside, it was now morning, showing just how much time had passed. He hadn't gotten much sleep, yet didn't feel the need to rest after everything that happened. Still, he'd head into the living quarters of the keep to look for Tyrion, although he'd nearly run into the dwarf when heading inside.

"Geralt? Where the hell have you been all night? When the roll call was given, I was confused on why you and Jon were missing." The dwarf questioned.

"A bit complicated and worth telling after we're gone from here." Geralt simply answered back. "When will you be ready to go?"

Tyrion had an odd look in his eyes at how the Witcher avoided his question, yet he'd soon answer back. "Tomorrow morning for sure. All our supplies will be accounted for by then."

Geralt simply nodded as he'd move past Tyrion who glance by him. "You know…when you get all silent and broody like that, it means something serious has happened."

A small yet amused sigh escaped from Geralt after that comment, yet he didn't answer back as he'd return to his room and pass the time double checking the last books he borrowed from Maester Aemon, trying to find some detailed story about the undead that served the White Walkers.

…

All the stories he had reviewed we're so vague, no detailed battles, more like broad tales about the ancient war. Yet one description detailed a material that disrupted and wounded the White Walkers, mainly because their mastery over frost made any metal weapon shatter.

"Dragon glass…what is that…" Reading the details of the material it sounded like obsidian from his understanding. "Strange that is affect a magical being. No monsters or magic I know are harmed or react to it." However it could be the natural process the glass is created crated the essence of fire within. Maybe it was even enchanted by the Children to be more effective, since this was ancient times and obsidian tools and weapons were more common place back then. Glancing out the nearby wooden, Geralt realize it was already the evening, showing just how caught up he was in his research. "Sent weeks just researching. At this rate may right a whole book after everything I've learned." He jested to himself as he closed the last book he had been reading. Just then though, there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice speaking up.

"Geralt, can we talk?" Jon said through the door.

Opening the door, he'd see Jon had a quite serious look on his face, no doubt after talking with both his uncle and the Lord Commander along with thinking over last night's events. For a while the Witcher didn't say anything, yet already knew what the young man had on his mind. "Let's talk on top of the Wall. More private." He'd quickly grab his cloak and two swords, not wanting to be unprepared if any more surprises came up this evening. Leaving his room, Geralt lead Jon to the grand elevator and begin the long ride up to the top. Nothing was said until they reached the top, the howling winds of the frozen north echoing across the Wall's peak as they'd walk onto the icy barrier. Pacing to one of the watch stations, they'd view across the vast forests and mountains, the low setting sun giving a beautiful color across the snow covered landscape.

"So…about what you said about using magic. You can do more than just shoot fire from your hands?"

Geralt nodded, gaze still set at the horizon. "Quen, protective barrier of shocking energy that can deflect even the strongest blows. Yrden, a circle of binding that slows and weakens others. Aard, psycho…ummm…air burst that can knock a fully armored man down. Axii, mind affected spell to confuse or influence others." He'd pause as he let all of those abilities sink in for Jon.

"Gods. So…you've been holding back whenever you've been fighting all this time?"

"In the case of our sparring matches yes along with keeping secrecy. Yet my Signs haven't been working right, except here at the Wall. They either don't work or so weak they'd be hardly be useful." Geralt explained.

"Yet if you're…Signs how would a duel against Jaime play out. Many claim he's the best swordsman in the Kingdoms.

"He'd lose."

Jon was a bit taken aback, expecting an exciting answer then that. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." Geralt calmly repeated. "If it was just up to our fighting skill though who knows. I've met human fighters with amazing potential much like yourself and Robb."

"I see…" Jon was silent now, unsure what else to question the Witcher about. "So is it true you'll be leaving tomorrow morning?"

Geralt simply nodded in response. "You can come along if you want. You haven't taken your vows yet."

Jon remained silent, a troubled look showing on his face before he'd give a small chuckle. "You know…father said that to me when we left." At this point, the Witcher looked to Jon with a curious look. "Before we left Winterfell. He said if I doubted joining the Night's Watch then I shouldn't join. Said that you put a little reasoning into his stubborn head."

Geralt chuckled at the remark. "Guess he took some personal advice well."

Jon nodded. "It meant a lot hearing it from him. I know you and everyone else has said the same thing, yet he's the one who started this ideal." The young man focused his gaze back to the landscape though, a serious look in his eyes. "If anything I was deciding to go. Let you train me more, see the Kingdoms and help find the truth about Bran." He'd pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Yet last night…changed it all. Seeing that thing, the Wight, made me realize that I'm needed here. Something is going on beyond the Wall, be it Wildlings invading or monsters crawling out of the snowy wastes. I think what will happen to the Grenn, Pypar and Sam if they're left alone to face whatever is to come."

Geralt didn't answer for a long moment, impressed by the young man's mature response. "Guess seeing a dead man walking would make you reconsider things…although most be running away from the danger not towards it."

Jon chuckled at the remark. "Sadly I'm not that kind of person."

"I understand your reasoning. Can tell that you already have a good bond if your fellow recruits and don't want to abandon them. The Night's Watch is going to need good men like you to keep it together when conflict arrives to the Wall."

"Glad you agree on that. I just hope you can get us the aid we need."

"Same. Have a feeling me and Tyrion are going to be stonewalled at King's Landing. I know how politics get in the way of such matters."

Both were quiet for now as they'd watch the sun set, the shadows spreading across the landscape in a quite foreboding manner. "There was another thing father told me before we left home. He said next time we'd meet, he'd tell me about my mother…about who she was and how it all happened." Looking to the Witcher, there was just a calm yet pleading look in the young man's eyes. "Please keep father safe while you're at the capital."

Geralt could understand Jon's request, no doubt wanting to know the full truth about his existence. "Knowing the man, he'd fight tooth and nail before breaking a promise. Don't worry though, I'll watch his back."

Jon relaxed a bit, giving a thankful nod before the Witcher shifted away from the ledge of the Wall. "Anyway we best head down. Going to get colder with the sun down."

"You go on ahead. I'm going to stay just a bit longer."

Geralt stopped for a moment and looked back at Jon, the young man still facing out towards the north. "You know this is going to be the last time we going to see each other for a long while." The Witcher stated. "Not much for goodbyes myself. I can tell you're not one for them either considering how you were with Ned." He'd shift through his cloak, making Jon glance back to see Geralt holding a wooden replica of his wood medallion. "Not much of a carver but sort of had time to practice. "Think of it as a memento."

Jon took the medallion, giving a small smile as he examined it. "Huh…should have expected considering Bran had one. Thank you Geralt."

"Stay safe Jon."

The young man nodded as he'd put the medallion on. "You too Witcher."

With those simple goodbyes, Geralt moved for the elevator and took the long ride down back to the castle. He'd return to his room and go to bed early, wanting to be well rested for the start of the long journey south.

…

When dawn came, Geralt was quick to dress for travel and pick up his packed belongings. Heading out Tyrion was waiting by the stables along with Lord Commander Jeor, First Ranger Benjen and Maester Aemon. Approaching the group, the three gave nods to the Witcher before Jeor spoke up. "I hope the road will be clear for you both. The Night's Watch is relying on you to report to the King on these recent Wildling bands and our need for support."

"We'll certainly send a raven once we have King Robert's answer, although he will no doubt discuss the matter deeply with the Small Council." Tyrion replied back.

"There is one parting gift I have though." Maester Aemon added before giving a quite sharp whisle. With one arm out, a grey raven suddenly flew down from the keep and onto his arm, Nasr the chatty raven.

The bird cocked it head looking at Tyrion and Geralt, a cunning look in its eyes. "Hello hello." It chirped.

"Nasr here is a one of a kind raven. One of the oldest raven's I've encounter and the most intelligent." Aemon explained. "A raven normally memorizes two locations, a destination and a home. Nasr is special because he know more than two locations. Issue is he's fickle as he's cunning, yet when he's sent off he's never failed a delivery.

"Thank you." Nasr chuckled, obviously enjoying the praise.

"Not sure I want to drag your favored pet around the Kingdoms." Geralt muttered as he looked at the bird, swearing those beady eyes had a mischievous look at him.

"Ah he won't trouble you. No need for a cage or feed. Nasr knows how to keep track of his handler and care for himself." The raven hobbled on the Maester's arm before suddenly fluttering off to Geralt as it landed on his shoulder and give a few testing prods with its beak at this leather shoulder pad.

"Heh, seems the bird already likes you Witcher." Benjen chuckled. "Just be sure to bring him back in one piece."

"I'll try my best." Geralt muttered before Nasr fluttered to Tyrion who had a curious look in his eyes. Letting the bird perch on his leather gloved hand, he'd offer up a cracker to the raven who quickly gobbled it up.

"I like him. Always wanted a personal raven." The dwarf remarked. "Even if it is well…on loan. Of course I'll keep a good watch on him."

Jeor stepped up to the two, keeping that stern look yet having a kind smile on his face. "Then I wish you two safe and speedy travel. Hopefully you two will return once things have calmed down."

Tyrion and the Lord Commander would shake hands, the dwarf nodding in agreement. "I'd like to hope so. It's been an honor Lord Commander."

Jeor shifted his attention to Geralt as Tyrion moved to get his horse, one of the rangers guiding a horse to the short noble, yet having one of his own. It seemed they'd be having company on the road from what the Witcher could tell. "That is Yoren, one of my top men and a recruiter for the Watch. He will be able to short out the logistics for any supplies and aid you're able to get us. From what I know Lord Tyrion has been quick to befriend him." Indeed the two were chatting, the ranger having an amused smirk on his face. Jeor looked back at the Witcher, holding out one hand for him to shake. "It's been interesting to meet you Witcher. I hope someone like you can get some reasoning into King Robert while there is still time."

Geralt firmly shook the old Commander's hand, realizing quickly the man had an iron grip despite his age. "Having met the man…well…that maybe a challenge. Still I don't plan to leave the Night's Watch empty handed." Reaching into a saddlebag, he'd take out a leather folder and hand it over to the Lord Commander. Curious, the old man started flipping through the pages, drawing a questioning look across his face.

"Where did you get these? I may not be a Maester yet I know an alchemical formula and weapon diagram." Jeor muttered. "Improved crossbows, blades, armor enhancements, bombs…the Alchemist Guild has long guarded some of these secrets if rumors are true."

"Just a collection of mine from my travels. The weapons are simple to craft yet better quality then what you currently have while the bombs are a more specialized tool you're men might need. I recommend to review those with your Maester and plan out proper store if you plan to make any."

Jeor review a few of the diagrams, nodding a bit. "These can be useful. Thought materials and supplies are still needed." Yet at the bottom of the papers, he'd find a bunch of signed papers, most of the writs Eddard had signed over to Geralt. "Wait these are…" The Lord Commander muttered, double checking the papers before chuckling. "This may just give us the edge we need in the coming months. I'll need to send suppliers out to get these redeemed."

"Their better off in your hands then mine. Use them well."

Jeor nodded as he'd tuck the folder under one arm, giving a thankful nod to the Witcher. "Thank you Geralt. Good luck down at King's Landing."

Geralt nodded in agreement before moving to his horse, pulling himself up onto the saddle while Yoren did the same. Glancing at the Night's Watch recruiter, he could tell the man was an experienced individual by just his look alone yet world weary from the tired look in his eyes. He'd give a nod of recognition to the Witcher before the gates of the castle opened up for the trio. Taking the lead, Geralt rode out while the two followed, Tyrion behind him and Yoren taking the flank. They headed out at a quick pace, slowing once they reached the more hilly regions of the Gift. Hours past, only idle chatter happening between Tyrion and Yoren. Once it was getting dark, the group set up camp by the road, although kept picked a less wooded spot to avoid a possible repeat of the Wildling ambush.

"So Yoren, care to tell me more about your role with the Watch?" Geralt asked once the group settled down.

The man gave a small shrug. "See no harm it in. Recruiter is the short title of my job. Officially it's Wandering Crow. Overall I just travel between the major cities between Winterfell and King's Landing, carting off anyone desperate enough to escape the gallows or losing a hand." Sighing, he'd scratching the back of his head. "Miss the days when people were willing to join. Honest men young and old willing to take the Black."

"Everyone has settled down after Robert's Rebellion. Work has gone well and the people are overall happy with King Robert…even though he is loose with the people's tax money. The roads and buildings maybe worn out, yet entertainment is always a numbing distraction to such matters." Tyrion remarked.

"Aye. Heard all about the feasts and tourneys he's hosted over the years. Another one supposed to be happen in a few weeks when he returns to the capital. At least I'll have something to watch while I'm visiting."

"Ah it will be an interesting event. Geralt here is even taking part…with me as his sponsor"

Geralt gave an odd look to Tyrion after that sudden claim. "Sponsor? I thought Lord Eddard be doing that?"

"That is the issue. You don't officially serve House Stark, your position as 'champion' is more of an honorary role which no doubt everyone in the North respects. South to the Riverlands and beyond though, that title will have little meaning to most."

"Alright fair point on that. So what is your scheme then? I can tell you have some cunning idea for all of this."

"Simple. Fame and fortune."

"Tyrion, you're part of one of the more renown and richest Houses in the land…why would you need more of that."

"On a personal level Geralt. While I enjoy spending my father's coin and throwing the family name about to get what I want, there are limits to it. Having seen what you can do, I know there will be plenty of betting going about and I know you'll be in the center of it all."

"Yah, except it's not you battling it out with the most skilled knights of the land. Not worried about the risks, just curious what is my gain besides good publicly?"

Tyrion chuckled at what the Witcher was meaning. "If its gold you're worried about, don't worry you'll get your share."

"Good. Considering I lost most of my money coming here. Doubt the pocket full of orens I have would count for much here."

"Money does make the world go round. Doesn't matter which side of the Narrow Sea or beyond that."

"True enough. That aside though, I take you'll tell me more about what events the tournament has planned along with the competitors?"

"In due time. Nothing has been finalized and I only know so much from rumors and offhand discussions from King Robert. We'll discuss the details once we get farther south." Tyrion assured the Witcher.

"Fair enough." Geralt muttered with a shrug.

…

The rest of the night was spent with idle chatter until the group decided on watch shifts for the night. Geralt and Yoren rotated shifts while Tyrion slept, not being the most suited for guard duty. Overall everyone got enough sleep and by dawn, they'd continue southward once more. Three days passed for the trio until they'd near Winterfell. At the crossroad to the large keep, Tyrion stopped everyone before speaking up.

"Best we pay a visit. I can imagine Geralt may wish to see how Bran and the others are doing. I have one small matter to do as well. Besides we could do with at least one night resting on warm beds and having hot meals while we can."

Geralt didn't say anything, yet nodded in agreement as they'd ride westward towards the castle. The place seemed exactly the same from a glance, yet the Witcher could tell there was less lifelines going about. No doubt with Eddard gone along with his daughters and Bran's injury, things have become dulled here. Not long after arriving though, a familiar laugh and voice drew the trio's attention.

"Back already Geralt? Thought you be staying up at the Wall longer than a week." Graffin chuckled as the Stark soldier approached the group.

Giving a small smile to the man, Geralt got off his horse and shook hands with him. "Think I saw enough up there. Seen a lot in my life, yet the Wall is unlike anything I've seen. That aside though, how have things been here?"

The question had Graffin give a more concerned look, mainly towards Tyrion. Leaning in he'd mutter in a low voice. "It's about Bran. A few days after you left an assassin set fire to one of the buildings and snuck into his room. Tried to kill the boy. Lady Catelyn was there and held him off before Summer pounced the man, ripped his throat out."

The grim new had Geralt give a serious look to the soldier. "Anything special about the assassin? I've dealt with such types before."

"Man was pretty unremarkable. No real history, just some drifter type who was in the area a few weeks ago. What made him special though was his weapon, a valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt."

The Witcher gave a curious look hearing about the weapon. "I take he wasn't the type to be owning such a weapon. From my understanding valyrian steel weapons are limited to nobility."

"Aye. Lady Catelyn knew that someone of high standing must have hired the man and gave him the weapon. She believed it was someone part of the royal convoy who did it."

"So then she put everything together. She realized Bran's fall wasn't an accident, no doubt confronted Sir Roderick and he told her about our investigation. Learning how a Lannister was behind it, she no doubt reacted badly." Geralt deduced.

"I know the Master-at-Arms talked to her about it, tried to explain that you and Lord Eddard were dealing with the manner. Never seen a woman so fierce and driven before. She was quick to head off for King's Landing, no doubt to personally warn her husband and show off the weapon."

Geralt grumbled at the news. "When did she leave? Any idea of what route she took?"

"I know they wanted to get to King's Landing fast and in secret. The best route be by boat along the eastern coast, so they'd most likely be heading to White Harbor within a day or so."

"Damn it…" Geralt muttered, already trying to think of a plan. "The last thing we need is her going around King's Landing and drawing attention. That woman could draw unwanted attention if she gets to the capital and start asking questions."

"Going to take her a while to sail south." Graffin muttered. "My best guess is she should arrive to King's Landing a few days after the royal convoy returns…unless the wind and weather favors her and she gets there sooner."

"Whatever the case I'll handle it." Geralt sighed. "I take Robb is in charge of running Winterfell?"

"Indeed. Didn't like his mother running off so suddenly yet he's managing well."

"Good to know. Have a lot to discus with him about his brother and what's going on at the Wall."

"Then best check in the Great Hall. He's been busy audiences from the little folk and other House envoys. A lot of people no doubt wanting to make a good impression with him since he's managing the North now."

"Same old politics. Anyway better see him while I can. You take care Graffin."

"Heh, same to you Geralt." The soldier gave a nod before heading off to the barracks just before Tyrion approached the Witcher.

"Bad news I take? You have the look of that everyone has when they hear it." He questioned the Witcher.

"Later, right now need to see Robb." Without another world, Geralt was already marching off to the Great Hall, the dwarf hurrying after him while Yoren remained to handle their horses. There were guards at the hall doors, who'd let them through after a moment, no doubt Robb finishing a meeting with a requester. Indeed there was a village elder talking to the young noble, giving a respectful bow and muttering thanks to Robb who sat at the center table set at the end of the hall with Luwin beside him.

"Thank you my lord. Blessing of the Seven and prayers for your brother." The man muttered.

Robb gave a small nod of thanks. "Take care. The soldiers you requested will be waiting for you at the gates."

The elder nodded before hurrying pass Geralt and his companions. It wasn't hard for Geralt to figure out what the man had been here for. Stepping forward, the Witcher quickly got Robb's attention, bringing a small smile to his face. He'd get up from his seat before moving to personally greet Geralt, shaking hands with him.

"Glad to see you back Geralt. Never thought such madness be happening in just over one week after you and father left."

"So I heard. An assassin nearly killing Bran, your mother running off for the capital…and I take trouble with your northern villages. Wildling raiders?"

A hint of surprise showed on Robb's face, showing Geralt was right. "More of odd sightings of late. I've been getting requests for men to be stationed in towns and focus on patrols along the side roads."

"Smart move. I can say the Wildlings are lurking about though. Ran into a group of them when we headed for the Wall. Night's Watch even reporting the tribes are acting up lately, united together to try and get past the Wall."

"Explain the increase sightings. Not sure how they get over to this side, yet that is a matter for the Night's Watch to deal with. Anyway I take you're going south to report to father and the King?"

Geralt nodded. "If King Robert ignores all this then he'll be seen as foolish. Have more than enough proof to sway him over…at least I hope."

Before Robb could say anything more than, a servant suddenly hurried in from a side passage of the hall. The woman seemed breathless, no doubt having ran through the entire keep to reach here. "Lord Robb…its Bran…he's awaken!" The woman gasped, trying to catch her breath.

Both Geralt and Robb gave shocked news at the news, yet quickly became one of relief. Even Tyrion have a pleased smile at the news. "Wonderful news! Fate has been kind for the boy indeed." The dwarf remarked, making Robb glance at him. Geralt did notice an odd look in the young noble's eyes, a showing distrust towards Tyrion despite the dwarf's supportive words.

"We best go see him. Maybe we can get some answers if is memory is clear." Geralt remarked."

"Don't pressure my brother too much Geralt. It's a miracle that he as awaken and I'd rather not stress his too much."

By this point Luwin would join the group, speaking up as well. "I'd also think it be best that I examine the boy. We don't know the full extent of his injuries until we do some tests. I'll go on ahead to check on him" Robb nodded in agreement before the Maester hurried off for the Great Keep.

"I do hope I can meet Bran. I do have a gift for him, something to help with his new hardship." Tyrion added, giving a small bow to Robb. "For now though, a warm meal and rest will do me good. Until next time Lord Robb."

Both Geralt and Robb watched the dwarf stroll out of the hall, yet once the Lannister was out of ear shot Robb would speak up. "There is something mistrusting about him."

"He's an odd one, yet doesn't mean anyone harm. If you think he's involved with what happened to Bran, that isn't true. Doesn't fit with what I found in the tower or with Tyrion's personality."

"I know that…maybe it's just that he's Lannister. Could know something about what happened." The two began to walk down on of the passages that linked the Great Hall to the Great Keep, heading for Bran's room.

"He doesn't know anything, yet has some suspicions. Considering I saved him from those Wildings, he has a debt to pay and plans to help me however he can."

"Huh…Lannister's always pay their debts." Robb chuckled. "I trust your word, so I'll believe what you say about Tyrion."

Arriving there were a few servants finishing cleaning up the room, who'd soon leave once Robb and Geralt arrived. Luwin would be beside Bran's bed, busy examining the boy's legs, testing if he felt anything or could draw a muscle reflex with his prodding. Laying close beside Bran was the boy's direwolf Summer, who'd rest his head on the boy's lap in a protective manner.

"No…nothing." Bran said, his voice low in tone and tired as he laid there.

"I see…troubling." Luwin muttered before noticing Geralt and Robb's arrival. "It is as I suspected. The boy has lost all feeling to legs. No doubt a spinal injury cutting off all connection."

Despite the saddening news, Bran was oddly quiet, no crying or begging. Geralt knew the boy was tough, yet even that impressed him. Robb stepped up, a sad look on his face as he'd hold Bran's hand, the boy tightly holding on. Geralt stood beside the young noble, keeping a calm look despite the mix of emotions he felt.

"Bran, do you remember what happened at the ruined tower? Do you know how you fell from it?" The Witcher asked in a low voice. He'd look to Summer who whined a bit to him for attention. Sighing, Geralt scratched the direwolf behind the ears, making the wolf pant happily.

Bran's closed his eyes, trying to focus on that day and moment. "I remember me and Summer running along the plains. I wanted to go explore that old tower ever since I got good at climbing." Pausing, he'd rub the direwolf's head before continuing. "I remember nearing a window and heard something. I peaked in then…remembering something push me off the ledge." Shaking his head, he'd sigh. "That's all I remember."

"It's fine. Maybe over time your memory will come back. Trust me…I know how it's like."

Bran nodded before moving one hand to the wooden wolf medallion on his neck with a small smile before looking to the crossbow and quiver beside him. Geralt moved to the items and handed them over to the boy who looked them over closely. "I guess we'll be able to practice archery still." He said, a hopeful hint showing in his voice.

"Course you will. I'll carry you out myself once you've rested up a bit." Robb chuckled. "Still you'll need someone to help you around, carry you about to handle other matters." Thinking for a moment, the young man soon had an idea. "Hodor be fitting. Man's maybe dull minded, yet is strong as a bull and knows how to listen well."

Geralt remembered see the large servant since coming to Winterfell. From what he knew the man suffered some kind of sudden seizer that left him simple-minded when he was young. "Sounds fitting. Still, back home I remember some members of nobility having specialized chairs for movement, wheel chairs. Don't know the designs but...could be something Luwin could research into."

The Maester thought for a moment before nodding at the idea. "I have heard of such a device. Most designs I've heard vary in complexity yet I think with time and effort a proper one can be built for the young master."

"Then please do that Luwin. Whatever materials you need I'll have them delivered in haste." Robb added, showing his support for this idea.

"Best that I get to work then." Nodding to everyone, the old Maester hurried out of the room, leaving the others to themselves.

"So…where is father and mother? Shouldn't they be here as well?" Bran ask after a moment, fiddling a bit with his crossbow yet having a worried look on his face.

Robb glanced to Geralt, yet the Witcher shrugged to the young man who'd sigh, realizing this was his responsibility. "A lot has happened after your fall…so this may take a while to explain."

…

The rest of the day was spent talking with Bran over last two and half weeks over what had happened. The boy was saddened to hear how his father left for King's Landing and shocked about the assassination attempt on his life, along with his mother being injured in protecting him. Knowing that his parents were so far away had him sigh, wishing he could see them after what had happened. Yet Geralt did his best to shift the topic to more interesting matters, such as discussing about his visit to the Wall and how Jon was doing. The tales about the grand northern barrier brought an excited gleam to the boy's eyes and eased the sober mood. By evening, the boy seemed tired out from all the talking as he'd lay back to rest.

"Best let you rest Bran. Still weak after being out for so long. I'll make sure the servants get you a big meal for tomorrow." Robb said as they'd get ready to leave the boy alone.

"Alright. Though…could I eat down at the hall? I can't stand staying in bed for another day." The boy muttered.

"If you feel you're up for it. For now sleep up for tomorrow."

Bran nodded before giving a small smile before closing his eyes, drifting to sleep while Geralt and Robb moved to leave the room, making sure to lock the door behind them. They'd head through the Great Keep for the main courtyard, taking the time to talk privately along the way.

"Do you have to leave tomorrow? We could all use your help considering how hectic the last week has been." Robb asked.

"Like to, but your father needs my help at the capital and your mother needs to be stopped before she does something rash."

"I understand. Still I'd feel more confident with my duties having experienced others to advise me."

"Then here's some advice. Follow what you believe is right and best for people of the North, not what you believe your father would decide. You aren't like him no matter how you see it."

Robb didn't answer at first, giving only a nod and thoughtful look. "So take you'll be leaving early tomorrow?"

"Yah. We'll stay for breakfast and to say goodbye to Bran before heading out. Going to be hard to catch up to the royal convoy before it arrived at King's Landing."

"Heh, knowing you you'll get there early." Robb chuckled as the two strolled out into the yard, stopping out before the Great Keep. "Anyway you best rest up. Doubt you'll get a chance for a soft bed for most of the road."

"Good advice on your part there." Geralt remarked with a smirk. "See you tomorrow Robb." The two part way, Geralt heading for the Guest House and Robb back into the keep. The Witcher would return to the same room he had stayed in before, quickly getting to bed and sleeping well into the morning.

…

By morning, Geralt was already dressed and packed for travel. Out in the yard he already had his horse ready for the road, after of course saying goodbye to the remaining Starks. Heading for the Great Hall again, he'd enter the vast room to see the Starks and other household eating at the many tables, with Robb and Bran at the main table. Beside the boy was the large figure of Hodor, who helped move plates of food around for Bran, often muttering his name as usual. Robb's dire wolf Grey Wind along with Summer sat close beside their respected master, chewing on quite large bones which they had picked clean of meat. Sitting at a table close by to Stark was Tyrion and Yoren. Already the dwarf was chatting with the two, seeming to be finishing the thrilling tale of Geralt's battle against the Wildlings.

"…it was unlike anything you'd have seen out in the yard good Bran. The way his sword cut was like lightening." Tyrion detailed, being overly dramatic about what had happened. The young Stark seemed amazed by the tale, even Robb having a curious look as he listened. "Ah and the hero himself arrives. Have a seat Geralt, we saved a plate just for you." Tyrion gestured to the open seat beside him with a large breakfast set for the Witcher. Sitting down, he was quick to eat his meal while the dwarf continued to speak to Bran. "Tales aside though, I do have a gift for you. From what I know you enjoyed riding horses." Reaching down to a pack, he'd take out a set of scrolls and papers before moving over towards the two. Robb took them, checking them over to see they were designs of a saddle yet with odd harness and straps for the legs of the rider.

"Never seen a saddle like this." He muttered, showing Bran the blueprints.

"I may not be a Maester yet I do enjoy my books. After hearing of Bran's accident, I thought it be polite to find a way to help with his crippling injury." Tyrion explained. "With the right saddle and a young horse, it can be properly trained for him to ride with ease once more."

Bran had a hopeful look at the idea, a small smile showing on his face. Robb looked over the plans before setting them aside. "I really did underestimate you Lord Tyrion. Thank you for kind gift." Robb said formally.

"I tend to have a spot in my heart for cripples, bastards and broken things." He answered back quite proudly before returning to his seat.

"Explain the company you keep." Geralt chuckled, making even Yoren smirk in agreement. Breakfast was soon finished up for the group and they'd all start to get up from their seats to get ready to leave.

"Time we head off." Geralt muttered as he'd approach the head table to say goodbye to the Stark.

Robb would stand up give a short tug to the Witcher, patting him firmly on the shoulder afterwards. "I expect you to visit again one day, hopefully with the whole family together."

Meanwhile, Hodor picked up Bran and carried him closer to Geralt, a small hint of sadness showing in his eyes. Geralt leaned in before giving the boy a short hug before ruffling up his short dark hair with a small smirk. "You stay strong alright?"

Bran gave a small smile, nodding. "I will be." Pausing for a moment, he'd continue to speak. "Tell father that I hope to see him soon."

"Promise." Geralt shift back, giving a small wave to the two before rejoining Tyrion and Yoren. The trio head out of the hall, yet Geralt glanced back at the two Starks, having an odd feeling this maybe the last time he see the two for a very long time.

…

The next week of travel would be long and tiring, even for road worn Witcher. While the King's Road was well kept and direct in route, the quick pace of the riding did wear down on him. Tyrion was often exhausted by the end of the day, usual being dead asleep as soon as they made camp. Yoren seemed to be use to such fast and long traveling, although considering his role in the Night's Watch it wasn't surprising. They had left the North halfway into the first week and entered the damp Riverlands, which reminded Geralt of Velen with its similar environment. Often as they rode nearby marshes and rivers, he expected to see a Drowner lurking under the murky water or a Foglet slipping away into the mists. Yet there were no monsters, just the stray splash of a jumping fish or the shuffle of a deer bounding away.

Between traveling and camping, Geralt questioned Tyrion about King's Landing along with the major figures of the capital, along with other questions about individuals involved with Robert's tourney. He'd learn about the different individuals that made up the Small Council, Robert's advising group who also helped managed the running of the Kingdoms, such as their names and public history. As for the competitors for the tournament, Geralt's interests mainly focused on Jaime and Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Every time he heard people talk about the man it was often in fear and disgust, yet after learning the man's history, he'd know why. The tales of the man's bruthal strength in battle, shocking speed and great endurance sounded quite superhuman to the Witcher, yet he wondered if it was in exaggeration. The man was infamous for killing others for the slightest offenses, along with killing women, children and even infants from what was rumored during the end of the Rebellion. Overall he was everything the Witcher hated, a true monster wearing a human's skin.

"Not sure why I should be scared of him." Geralt calmly stated as he sat close to the campfire, Tyrion giving a curious look at the Witcher.

"When you see the man you may understand why."

"Doesn't matter if he really eight feet tall. I've fought and killed bigger."

"Another monster tale no doubt?"

Geralt nodded. "In Skellige, one of the islands was taken over by an ice giant, possibly the last of its kind. Led a small army of monsters to force everyone off its new territory before forcing whatever survivors to begin crafting a massive war boat. Overall he was massive, at least over twelve feet tall and strong enough to use an anchor as a club."

Yoren chuckled at the tale. "You must be pulling our leg Geralt. If such a thing existed, how could did you have killed it? Doubt any man, even the Mountain can match up to that."

"Had some help with some friends of mine, Skelligers seeking the giant out. As for how…well…we just fought it until we got him gutted and beheaded. Still thrashed us good by the end of it." Yet before he continued on, he'd stop and shift one hand to his steel sword, making Tyrion gulp nervously. "Someone's coming.

Everyone looked to the nearby road as they'd hear the sound of hooves, making them relax slightly as a cloaked rider neared their camp. He'd stop at the edge camp before dismounting, approaching them on foot until the fire light revealed him. The man was a roguish fellow considering the light beard on his face. He wore a set of light banded mail and leather along with a long sword and short sword on belt. Wasn't hard for Geralt to figure the man as a sellsword since he lacked any House symbols.

"Hey there. Care to spare a little drink and food for a traveler?" The man asked casually.

"I wouldn't though I'd care for an introduction." Tyrion answered back.

"Bronn, just Bronn." The man answered back before tying his horse to some nearby trees before sitting back across from Geralt. The sellsword looked between the three, realizing they were quite the odd trio. "So…uhh…you some kind of trope? Can't say I'd ever met a dwarf, Night's Watchman and…" Looking closer at the Witcher, he'd then notice the bright cat like eyes, making him give a double take. "…and…whatever you are." He muttered.

"Geralt of Rivia. Witcher." He answered back.

"Da fuck is a Witcher?" Bronn chuckled. "Quite the odd title and no doubt an interesting tale to it."

"Long one at that."

"Ugh…feel like I'll be bored hearing it another time" Tyrion muttered, yet gave a jesting smirk. "Very well then tell him. I'll see what wine we have left in the skins."

A few hours passed as the trio chatted with their guest, Geralt sharing his story with Bronn along with their little trek from the Wall and down for King's Landing. The sellsword was quite the blunt yet sarcastic type, being crude with his words yet friendly all the same.

"Now I think about it I've heard about you. You're the stranger who strolled out of the North with a dozen dead Wildlings behind him? Heh impressive." He complimented.

"Anyway you're turn. What's bringing you south?" Tyrion asked.

"Amusement and work. Heard about the tournament happening in King's Landing, all for the new Hand of the King. Thought be fun to see. Also, considering there will be plenty of noble types there, I'd thought to try my chance getting hired by one."

"Huh…smart idea considering." Geralt remarked. "Guess not much work during peace time?"

"The odd job here or there, mainly protection work. Right now needing something more long term and stable."

"You may be in luck with me. Looking for reliable types who can offer up protection." Tyrion offered. "The Lannisters can offer the best in gold and benefits afterall."

Hearing the family name, the man chuckled out. "Damn it…should have known you'd be a Lannister, much less the 'Imp' himself." He'd pause as he'd think on the offer. "Guess it can hurt, yet going to have to discuss over the details."

"Of course. We have a few more days until King's Landing, yet I'm sure we can come to an agreement at the Crossroad's Inn. Just a few days away from there."

Bronn shrugged. "Fair enough. Least the road south won't be boring anymore." Yawning, he'd lean back against a nearby tree and tug his cloak up. "For now though I need some shuteye. Hard to sleep when no one is watching your back." He muttered.

Everyone but Geralt would get comfortable for sleep while he'd remain on watch. He did drift into a light meditation, yet his eyes opened when he heard fluttering wings and a bit of cawing. Bron grumbled at the noise. "Guh…strangle the blasted thing…"

Smirking, Geralt got up as he'd move to the edge of the clearing to check up on Nasr who had been keeping to himself the whole trip south. The grey raven quieted down as the Witcher neared him, hoping off his branch and onto his arm. "Alright cut it out." He muttered as the bird pecked lightly at his leathered sleeve.

"Monsters! Monsters!" The raven murmured suddenly, making Geralt give a questioning look.

"No…there isn't any." Still he did shift one hand to his medallion, the sensitive metal having been still ever since leaving the Wall. "You must be seeing things. Anyway cut it out alright."

"Warned ya!" The raven fluttered off into the darkness, making Geralt shrug as he'd move back into camp. Yet his pace slowed before glance back into the dark wetlands, getting an odd gut feeling of being watched…a familiar one.

"No…just my imagination." He'd return to his spot, giving a sigh as he'd again relax and drift back into mediation.

…

Deep in the marsh lands, a raspy chuckle echoed through the forest. A hunched figure hurried through the mix of muddy water and dense woods, not slowed by the rough terrain. "Ohh what a surprise this was." The voice chuckled, female in tone yet having a faint hint of other voices behind every word. "To think he'd be here. Yet the threads of fate call for it…"

Light shined ahead as a large worn cabin peeked through the trees, a secluded place far from the main roads and towns. Nearing the build, the light at last revealed the hunched figure who at a glance was best described as disfigured woman. She wore an oversized cone shaped hat on her head and patchwork clothes made of a mix of leather and cloth which held together a pair of rotting human legs like a grim trophy at the front of her gown. Her face was partly covered, the right eye having a dirtied brown cloth over it as a patch while the other was flesh fused socket with hive like holes where buzzing insects nested in.

Entering the cabin, the crone Weavess chuckled as he'd take out the latest collection of child hair, having gotten a tidy tribute from the more secluded villages. Her attention focused on the largest wall of the room which had a massive tapestry set across it, depicting three beautiful woman in rags conducting some occult ritual. Yet two of them were marred by burn marks and blades, showing that someone had vandalized it. "That Witcher and the girl wounded us so." The crone growled as he gazed at her work.

"They brought the witch hunters. Weak men…yet persistent and numerous. They raided our home, ruined my masterpiece." She'd get her needle out, moving to the tapestry as she began to skillfully weave the hair to continue repairing it. "They attacked our Sabbath. Broke out power over Velen. Murdered you my beautiful sisters!" She nearly wailed out, feeling such pain of their absence. "Yet the Conjunction of world began again. How I sensed the vast swell of magic…worlds rich and untapped of it. This one was so ripe to take foot in, innocent to our kinds touch."

She'd finish the line of hair, getting another bunch as she continued on. "The air is so empty. The Source sleeps deeply…yet soon it will awaken in the roar of fire, screams and blood!" She'd cackle as she remembered the vision she had when she arrived to this world. "She who is heir to the throne of iron and will birth the dragons anew to the world. In turn you will be reborn as well!" She used the last of the hair, the tapestry partly mended. "We'll have our revenge sisters. The White Wolf is blind to the truth and the child of destiny lost. Their flesh will be one we'll savor…" Weavess cackled out in sadistic glee.

…

 **Notice: And so an old foe returns! I'll admit the crones have long been a favorite enemy from the game and one that remained a loose end. They fit in well as a small yet dangerous faction lurking within the GoT world. I again apologize for the late chapter posts yet with classes coming in, that maybe more common. Still I will strive to continue this story! Anyway please review and message me your thoughts!**


	12. S1-E11: Inn at the Crossroads

**Chapter 11: Inn at the Crossroads**

"Feeling alright Geralt? You keep looking out at the swamps as if worried about something." Bronn suddenly spoke up, snapping the Witcher's attention to him.

"Old habit. Regions like this weren't that safe to travel back home." He explained. "Course there was war and banditry all about."

"Eh, give anything for a little conflict." The sellsword muttered with a small smirk.

Geralt simply shrugged as the group continued on, leaving the murky swamplands for more lush forest. Leaving the thick line of trees, the party of travelers soon saw their destination just down the short slope of a hill. The Witcher truly realized just how big the royal convoy was as it spread across the area, taking every open space up and surrounding the large cozy tavern which was bustling with attention. Music and laughter could be heard, showing that a small party of playing out among the convoy.

"Seems we arrived just in time! Seems they just arrived yesterday by my guess." Tyrion chuckled as he'd led the group forward.

"Wait…we're just going to stroll right into the King's private camp?" Bronn asked with a small chuckle.

"Why not? I'm family after all and I doubt anyone will be brother by you."

Riding into the main camping grounds of the caravan, they'd be greeted up pages who were quick to help the riders dismount and tend to the tired horses. Geralt thanked the page, yet was quick to look around the area, trying to find Ned in the mixed crowd of servants and nobility. "Best I go find Lord Eddard. I take you'll be fine on your own Tyrion?"

"Of course. No need to worry about me." The dwarf said with a small smirk. "Come along Bronn, time we get a proper drink. Heard this place offers a fine selection!" The Lannister and sellsword were off to the tavern while Yoren would walk up to quickly speak with the Witcher.

"As much as I'd like to meet Lord Stark…I think I need a good bed and sleep first." Indeed the Night's Watch recruit looked exhausted after the week and half of riding.

"Go ahead. I'll be sure to tell him to see you later."

Yoren nodded thankfully before he'd head off for the tavern building as well, leaving the Witcher to himself now. Geralt began to roam the main camp grounds, sharp eyes trying to find any of the Stark daughters or their father. However as he moved along, a smooth female voice spoke up to him, making him glance about to see it was Cersei. The beautiful woman was dressed in a fine red summer gown, the outfit showing off her fine figure and matching well with her golden long hair. She was flanked by two King's Guard, the men standing attentively as she approached the Witcher.

"Well, Sir Geralt. Quite the surprise to see you here." The queen said in a coy manner. "I take you had an interesting and safe journey up to the Wall and southward?"

He'd nod before giving a respectful short bow to her. "It was your grace. Seen a lot in my travels yet the Wall is unlike anything else." He answered back. "Had a few…complications along the road, yet nothing too serious."

Cersei gave a soft smile, nodding her head slightly as he'd walk beside the Witcher as they strolled through the encampment. "No doubt tiring trek considering how quickly you traveled. I hope Tyrion wasn't too much of a bother following along."

"A bit eccentric yet kept road interesting. Shared quite a few good tales along the way." He answered back. "He's not like the rumors say about him."

"Perhaps. He does have bad habits." Cersei muttered with a small shrug. "Family aside though, I'm curious to know if Bran condition has improved. I can't imagine how Catelyn must be feeling…any mother would be distraught having their child suffer in such a way."

Geralt was curious at the queen's interest on the matter, knowing well she had been at the tower where Bran fell. "When I arrived to Winterfell from the Wall, Bran had awaken, He's lost his memory over what happened yet it seems the fall was an accident."

When he mentioned Bran awakening he could sensed the worry about her, hearing her heart race yet she kept her composure. "Good fortune then for the Starks. Lord Eddard's mood will no doubt improve hearing this good news. He has been quite brooding ever since we left Winterfell and from constantly dealing with my husband. The two may have been friends during the Rebellion, yet so many years can change a man." She'd pause for a moment before continuing to speak. "Robert was heartbroken seeing Bran crippled and suffering. He suggested the boy deserved a painless death then struggle for the rest of his life. If he had suggested such a thing if our children had been in the boy's place…" She'd take a deep sigh to compose herself yet gave a soft smile to the Witcher. "The children are our future. No matter what happens they should always be cared and protected for."

Oddly that remark reminded Geralt of Ciri, thinking of all the years he spent training and trying his best to protect her. "I can agree with that." Geralt said in agreement. "Still I feel that one day we half to let them live on their own. Not be overprotective when the times comes."

"Perhaps…yet we all handle such matters different." She'd mutter back. "Personal matters aside, I do have a small request of you. Joffrey and Sansa had wandered off a while ago. I was hoping you could ask them to come back since it's nearly lunch."

"Won't it be better for the royal guards to find them your grace?"

"Yet you're better suited for such a task. Many say your tracking skills are unmatched after all. Besides, this surely can't take long for you."

Sighing, he guessed arguing wouldn't help on the matter. "I'll see what I can do. Any idea where they were last at?"

"Thank you. Last I remember the two were by the inn before strolling off into the woods. No need to worry, it should be safe out there for them."

"Shouldn't be too hard then. I'll have them back in due time." He'd give a small bow before slipping away, noting the woman's coy smile as she watched him. She was a quite smug woman…and quite a good actress. She was hiding something about Bran from the subtle reaction he noticed, although it wasn't any real proof he could use. For now though he felt it be best being in good favor with her by doing this small errand.

Going to the front of the inn, he'd focus his sharp senses to examine the wide mix of foot prints along the ground, quickly picking out two that moved off towards the forest, the two seeming to follow a trail that went closely to the nearby river. "Heh, the scenic route." He muttered as he followed along. Soon his sharp ears could hear young voices, although there was more than two from what he could tell.

Nearing a small clearing by the river, he'd find that Sansa and Joffrey weren't alone as Arya and a commoner boy was there as well. From what he could tell Arya and the boy had been play fighting with sticks yet for some reason Joffrey was confronting the commoner, his sword out and pressing to the boy's check. Sansa was standing back with a shocked look while Arya pleaded with the prince to stop. The boy whimpered as the prince slowly cut across his cheek, having a sadistic grin as he drew blood. However with his guard down, Arya sudden striked at his back, making Joffrey yell out in pain and surprise while staggering, giving the commoner boy to flee. He'd just duck from a blind slash from the prince, who quickly turned about swinging at Arya who just avoided the attack, tumbling onto her back.

"I'll gut you, you little cunt!" He snapped out, sword pointed at her in anger.

Yet already Geralt was on the move, rushing over to the group. "Alright enough of that!" He snapped out, making Joffrey and Sansa give surprised looks seeing the Witcher. Suddenly though, there was a snarl from the bushes as Nymeria rushed out at Joffrey, biting down on his sword arm and making the boy howl in pain. Being tugged down, he struggled as the direwolf thrashed its head about to tear up his sleeve and dig into his arm along him making him drop his sword.

"Nymeria stop!" Arya ordered, struggling up to her feet.

"Make her stop please!" Sansa pleaded.

Geralt was quick to reach the direwolf, grabbing her by the back of the neck as he'd growl out. "Let him go!" Nymeria did so, whining as she'd hurry away to Arya who hugged the canine closely. The Witcher kneeled beside Joffrey, the prince teary eyed as he gripped his bloodied arm.

"Gods…i-it mauled me! I can't feel my arm!" He groaned in pain.

"Stop squirming. Have to check how bad it is." The ruined finery got in the way, so he'd rip the torn cloth away to show the deep bite marks the boy had. While bloody, the muscle wasn't torn from what he could see. "Bleeding badly, yet nothing serious."

Joffrey bite back his pained cries as he'd look to Nymeria, giving a hateful look to the wolf. "Cursed beast! I'll…I'll have it skinned for this!" He threatened, making Arya hold onto her companion and give an angry look back at the prince.

"It was an accident…All of it!" Sansa quickly said, mainly towards Geralt with the pleading look.

"We'll see." He muttered before looking back to Joffrey. Tugging the boy up by his uninjured arm. He'd help him stand yet during that time Arya suddenly got up and run. Glancing about, he'd see her bolt into the forest with Nymeria close behind her. "Damn it…"

"They're running off!" Joffrey snapped out as he'd grasp his injured arm, wincing from the pain while Sansa was quickly at his side, trying to calm him. She seemed to whisper something to him that made compose him, yet he had a frustrated look remaining in his eyes.

"I can see that sire." The Witcher sighed. "Need to get you back to the inn and get that treated to stop the bleeding. Since you can still walk, it won't be hard to return." The prince was silent, unable to argue on the matter as the Witcher moved beside him handing the torn sleeve to the prince as a makeshift rag. "Keep pressure on it to slow the bleeding. Anyway let's move."

Picking up the boy's discarded sword, he'd lead to two young nobles back to the inn. Quickly attention was on them and already the servants called for Cersei and a healer. The queen was the first to arrive, a panicked look in her eyes before seeing Joffrey was alive. "Thank the gods." She gasped as she hurried to him, quickly checking at the bitten arm. "What did this to you?"

"Ayra's beast! It mauled me!" The boy quickly answered while Sansa stood by his side, eyes low and remaining silent.

"You had your sword pointed at the girl. You're lucky the wolf didn't go for your throat." Geralt warned, making the boy gulp nervously.

"We'll discuss this later. Right now he needs to be tended to." Cersei quickly answered back. Soon a servant came with bandages and ointments. "Let's get inside." She'd hurry her son and the servant into the inn, shooing any patrons out of their way while Sansa hurried to follow. However Geralt stopped put one arm in her way, giving a calm yet serious look to her.

"Don't hurry off. You need to tell me what was going on."

The girl glance away from him, nervous by those piercing yellow eyes yet she'd nod. "Alright…"

"Who was the boy Arya was with?"

"I…I don't know his name, the local butcher's son I believe. He and Arya were fighting with sticks when we found them…not a proper thing for her to do much less with someone like him." She answered. "Joffrey took offense that the boy fight with a noble and…challenged him."

"Right…very honorable. Fight a boy with a sword while he has just a stick." Geralt remarked in dry sarcasm.

"He…wasn't going to hurt him. Just was trying to scare him off."

Geralt glanced at the prince's sword. "Bloodied from what I can tell. Sharp blade…one which he swung at your own sister."

"It was in self-defense! She hit him in the back." Sansa argued.

"You'd say that still if he cut her open? A foot closer and that would have happened."

The girl paled sickly at the thought. "Please. Just…go find Arya." She muttered, hurrying into the inn before the Witcher could argue any further. He'd sigh as he'd put the princes sword through a loop of his belt. "Foolish girl. Not sure what she sees in that violent brat."

As he'd move for the convoy camp, he'd nearly run into Jaime Lannister who was in a hurry for the inn. He was dressed in a quite stylish tanned leather duelist outfit, clothing fitting for the region. Despite his surprise seeing the Witcher, he'd give a more serious look. "Should have known. Trouble seems to follow wherever you go Witcher." He muttered.

"Good to see you too Sir Jaime." Geralt answered back formally despite the harsh greeting he received.

"Where is the prince? What happened to him?"

"Got bitten by Arya's wolf for threatening the girl. It isn't too serious and is already being tended to."

"That is good to hear at the least." Jaime muttered. "Forgive my manners. I am thankful you aided the prince and brought him back swiftly. The news of Joffrey being wounded had me worried."

"Understandable. He is under your protection after all."

"Yes…now I must be at his side." Quickly the blond haired knight hurried past the Witcher, although be suddenly stopped by him. Giving an odd look to Geralt, he'd notice the fine sword in his hands.

"Should return this to him."

Jaime took the blade without a word before he'd quickly enter the inn, questioning the nearest patron on where the young prince was.

Just as Geralt began to move though, a familiar voice called out from the side. "Geralt! What in the Hell happened." Ned quickly demanded. One look at the man and the Witcher could tell he had a tried look about him, no doubt from stress and lack of sleep.

"Long story. Overall it involved your daughters and the prince. Arya's wolf mauled him and she ran off into the forest." He'd answer back, being short and direct with his words.

"Arya?" Eddard sighed as he'd rub his brow with one hand. "Please tell me she didn't get far."

"Doubtful. Hasn't been long and she's on foot. I'll find her don't worry."

Ned nodded, calming down slightly. "Good good. Robert should be returning soon from his hunting. He'll no doubt be troubled by this news and demand to know what happened."

"Of course. Anyway I'll have Arya back as soon as possible, but if I'm not back before sunset, organize a search party."

Ned nodded before Geralt hurried off, heading back down the trail to the clearing and then following the path Arya left in her hurry to escape. It was trickier to follow the girl, making him move more slowly to not lose sight of her footprints, yet he knew he was getting close. A good hour passed as it seemed Arya had gotten far and soon he'd hear noise nearby, soft tense breathing coming from a large fallen log. Slowly he'd approach, his footsteps just audible which made the girl quickly become silent, trying to hide herself.

"I know you're there Arya." He calmly spoke out, yet received no answer. "I'm not mad at you or Nymeria. I saw what happened. I know it wasn't you or your wolf's fault."

For a long moment there was silence before she'd speak up in a low voice. "Could you…come over here please?"

Moving around the fallen log, he'd see Arya sitting back against it with a sad look in her eyes. He'd realize quickly that Nymeria was nowhere to be seen as he'd kneel right before her. "Where is Nymeria? Did she get spooked off by me?"

Arya shook her head, taking a shaky breath. "Not by you. By me. I…chased her off."

"Why?"

Arya held back a sob. "You know why! Joffrey is going to have them kill her!" She'd look up at Geralt, eyes teary and frustrated. "He started it! He threatened Mycah for no reason! He wanted an excuse to hurt him!"

"I know. I saw the way he was grinning." Sighing, he'd move to sit beside the girl, being quiet for a long moment. "So Nymeria isn't going to come back. No doubt she'll be far away by sunset."

"Why does that matter?" Arya muttered.

"Means the search party won't be finding her. Told them not to come until sunset, so should give her enough time to get away."

At that point the girl gave an odd look to the Witcher, confused at what he had just said. "But…didn't they send you to capture her."

"No one said anything about capturing. Your father was focused on just you."

Arya gave a soft smile, yet still had a depressed look in her eyes. "What will happen though? I mean…I'll accept being punished but…"

"But nothing. If I was in your shoes I'd smack that brat of a prince over the head instead of the back."

She'd giggle at his remark, mood lightening up. "I'm glad Mycah got away. I hope he'll be alright."

"Hopefully. Maybe I'll go find him tomorrow just to be sure."

Arya nodded, shifting closer beside Geralt which surprised him. "So…can we just stay here for a while? Until the others come."

Geralt was silent, knowing the girl needed some time and peace for the trouble that was going to come. With one arm around her, he'd keep her close. "Sure. We'll wait as long as you want."

She'd nod, leaning against his shoulder before giving a small sob and shaky breath, holding back her tears while Geralt silently looked out into the woods. He swore that his sharp ears could hear the mournful howl of a young wolf far off in the distance, as if begging to come back.

…

The sun had set by now and already voices called out through the woods. At this point Arya shift, waking up as she had drifted asleep beside the Witcher. Glancing at Geralt, she could see he was awake, those cat like eyes glowing faintly in the dim lighting. "Time to go." He muttered to her, already shifting up to stand, offering a hand to help the girl up. Arya nodded before pulling herself up, dusting off her clothes after sitting around for so long. "I found her!" Geralt called out, making the distant torches and shadowed figures turn about to them. They hurried over, Ned the first to arrive as he'd quickly move to embrace Arya, the girl hugging him back tightly. The two muttered something to each other, Eddard's face seeming tense at first before softened. Nodding, he'd let go of his daughter before looking to Geralt, giving a respectful nod to the Witcher.

"Thank you for finding and staying with her."

Geralt was silent, giving only a faint smile back to the Northern lord as the two regrouped with the search party. The group of royal guards escorted the three back to the inn, Arya staying close to her father as they talk silently with each other. Geralt kept to himself to give the two time to talk over what happened, since he knew everyone would want the full story on what happened. Reaching the Crossroads Inn, they'd be guided inside were it seemed most of the main room had been clear of tables, with everything being pushed aside so the mix of guards and nobility to gather inside. Robert and Cersei sat at the far end of the hall with Joffrey standing close beside them, injured arm in a sling. The king and queen were muttering to each other in a heated discussion, obviously arguing on the matter, yet they'd quite down once the group arrived.

"It's a good thing you're found her Ned. Hopefully now we end this matter quickly." Robert spoke out.

Ned seemed tensed, yet he'd nod in agreement. "Indeed. Is Sansa here as well?"

The young woman stepped out from the crowd, shyly looking at the ground as she'd move to stand beside her family. Ned put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, yet the girl looked no less worried despite the comfort he showed.

"Now then. I want all three of you to tell me what happened. All of it." Robert said in a deep commanding manner, which had the young nobles gulp nervously.

A half an hour, the three were questioned before everyone about the events that had played out. Joffrey told a tale of how the butcher's boy had been overly rough with Arya and he stepped in to defend her, only for the boy to attack him. He claimed Arya order her dire wolf to attack him, before then telling how Geralt stepped him to save him. The Witcher was surprised the boy gave him credit in the end, he no doubt it was a small show of gratitude for helping him.

Arya's tale was the most accurate, telling how she met Mycah and they went off into the woods to go playing knights. She told the scene accurately, even admitting to striking Joffrey when he threatened the boy along with the fact the prince had attacked with his sword. The act had made Nymeria defend her, claiming it was in self-defense.

Last with Sansa, her story was a mix of the other two. She claimed Joffrey was simply trying the scare the boy off since it was improper of him to be fighting, even if playing with someone like Arya. Overall she made it sound like he wasn't as violent or threatened like Geralt had seen. She admitted that Arya hit him in anger and how he had snapped back at the girl, leading to Nymeria's attack.

King Robert sighed as he'd rub the side of his head, thinking over the stories the three had told. "Well one thing for sure, Arya attacked me son since the girl confessed it." Looking at the girl though, Arya kept a straight face to the king, making the man chuckle. "Yet it's not my place to discipline her. I'll leave that matter to you Ned."

"Of course you grace." Eddard muttered, seeming relived with the decree.

Joffrey seemed annoyed, no doubt having his own form of punishment in mind, yet he remained silent. Sansa seemed to calm down, knowing her sister would be treated fairly. Cersei though had troubled look on her face.

"Yet what of the boy and dire wolf? Surely they shouldn't be punished as well?" The queen asked.

At this point Geralt spoke up, getting everyone's attention on the matter. "Last I checked your grace, the boy got a scar across the cheek from your son. Punishment enough for over nothing."

The calm yet cold way he spoke had the women shiver slightly, especially with those yellow eyes judging her so. "He was involved. He attacked my son." She argued.

"Right…with a stick. Surely the boy was a legend to outmatch the prince armed with steel-" He started.

"Enough arguing you two!" Robert growled out, looking sternly at the Witcher. "Speak out of line with my wife any further and I'll have you flogged. I'm grateful for your intervention on this matter, yet you are not the judge of this matter!"

"Of course my liege." Geralt muttered.

"Anyway…the boy isn't among us and even if he was I see no reason for harm to come to him. But the dire wolf though…" Pausing, he'd take a deep breath before continuing. "I ask for it to be put down. It is too dangerous to be left alive."

Arya and Sansa looked heart broken, the younger girl biting back her words though. Ned kept a calm look about him as he'd speak up. "My lord. Nymeria is gone. She ran off after what happened and hasn't been seen since. I doubt we'll ever see the wolf again..."

"Yet we do have another." Cersei spoke up. Seeing the woman's small cold smile, Geralt knew what the woman had in mind. "If Nymeria isn't around to pay the price then, Lady will. It is a hard choice, yet a fair one."

"NO! YOU CAN'T!" Sansa cried out, tears already showing in her eyes as he looked pleadingly to the King and Queen, yet focused on Joffrey. The young prince looked back at her, unsure of what to do or say. He seemed to mutter something to her mother yet she quickly answered back in a hushed tone. Yet his expression said enough, a sorry look to Sansa.

"So be it." Robert muttered as he'd rise from his seat and moving forward to leave the inn, making Eddard and his daughters move aside. "A wolf isn't a proper pet for her anyway. Get her a dog." He'd mutter to Ned. Eddard gave a pleading look to his friend, yet the large man didn't look back at him. Just as the neared leaving the hall, Eddard spoke up to get the King's attention

"Is that your command…your grace?" He had hesitated on the last word, no doubt refraining calling his friend by his name instead of title.

Robert glanced back, one hand clenched tightly in frustration. Yet he said nothing as he hurried out of the inn, followed by a few guards. Sansa cried and sobbed more while Arya spoke to her in a hushed voice, yet the older sister seemed to ignore the younger's words.

"Where is the beast then?" Cersei said, a smug look showing on her face.

"Chained in a pen outside your grace." One of the King's Guard answered.

"Good. I think Sir Payne will do the deed. It is his duty as executioner."

At that point Ned stepped up and spoke sternly to her. "No your grace. I'll do it."

Cersei gave a curious look to the Northern Lord, a hint of amusement showing in her eyes. "Oh? This isn't some trick is it Lord Stark?"

"No. Lady is part of the North, so it is my duty as its Lord to settle this matter." He calmly explained.

For a moment the queen was silent before nodding. "Very well then. I expect the deed to be done within the hour."

Eddard grimly bowed his head as he'd turn to leave, ignoring the muttering pleas of his daughters as he moved to leave the inn. Geralt gave a low growl of anger at what he had just witness. He realized just how cruel and petty Cersei was. She hid it well under loving nature for her family, using her position to torment anyone who slighted her or her family. Quickly the Witcher followed Ned, catching up to him just outside the inn.

"Lord Stark, listen to me." He started before Ned turn about to face him.

"There is nothing else to discuss." He bluntly stated back to the Witcher.

"You have an hour. Give me a chance to…do something."

"No. You saw how the King's mood was after that outburst of yours. He and the queen will suspect you or me if Lady somehow escapes that pen."

"You could be very well be killing one of the last few dire wolves this world has."

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Ned muttered harshly back. "Sansa doesn't deserve this punishment nor her wolf. Yet Robert has made his choice…and by honor I must follow it."

Geralt realized he couldn't argue any more, yet Ned was right. Any escape would be drawn to them and who knew what punishment or conflict it would cause. "Fine then. Make it quick for her. Clean stab for the heart always works." With that he'd move along to the caravan camp, leaving Ned to do his troubling task.

Entering the camp, he'd find where his packs were stored and quick get his bedroll out for the night after finding a secluded spot. Resting back, he'd sigh as he'd quickly fall asleep, trying to ignore the frustration he felt after the day's events.

…

Sleeping in to the late morning, Geralt got up and shifted through his pack to get a fresh change of clothes. Ever since reaching farther south, the weather had become warm and summery, making it quite hot for him with the northern leathers and fur he usual had on. Lucky he had come prepared as he had packed lighter clothes for the south, just a white shirt and leather trousers. He fit on the mix of his champion bracer and the studded wolven glove along with his usual boots. He'd have both sword on his back once finished, leaving his wolf cloak tucked away in his pack.

He'd head for the inn, needing a good meal to start off the day. Besides he wanted to know if this place's food was as legendary as everyone said. The main hall of the inn was back to normal after last night's 'trial'. Inside, he'd notice that Tyrion and Bronn were at one table, eating quite a hearty breakfast. The dwarf quickly noticed the Witcher and wave him over.

"Rest well Geralt? I heard about what happened yesterday…" He'd ask as the Witcher upped up a short stroll and picked a clean plate and cup set aside on the table.

"Yah…your sister and nephew are becoming hard to like." He muttered as he'd pick out the last meat pie they had, making Bronn grumble.

"Wanted that…" Course seeing Geralt's sharp eyes made him not argue the case.

"Yes. I heard what my sister demanded and the story Joffrey said. My nephew does have bad…habits. I blame it on his upbringing and her overprotectiveness."

Geralt shrugged, not caring on such excuses as he'd started eating. Just a few bites and already he was half-way down with the pie, unable to deny that it was the best one he had in years. "So…any news to share with me?" He'd asked the dwarf after a while eating.

"I have been talking with the servants. Asking them about my sister's plans and habits during her stay at Winterfell. I can confirm that she wasn't at the keep when Bran's fall happened." The dwarf said in a low hushed voice.

"Interesting. Anything else?"

"More of rumors then anything. Since I know you know history, there has been talk of a historic marriage across the Narrow Sea in Essos. The banished children of the Targaryen line have revealed themselves after so many years missing."

"Targaryen's I thought they were all wiped out during the rebellion?"

"Ah not these two. They were smuggled away by loyalists during the fall of King's Landing. The last male heir is Viserys and the last daughter is his sister Daenerys. Anyway the rumors go that Viserys arranged for his sister to marry Essos's most powerful Khals of the continent, Khal Drogo."

"Khal? Sorry, you're going to have to explain a bit about Essos culture. Haven't spent much time reading up on them."

"Fair point. A Khal is a warlord of the Dothraki, a culture of warrior horse raiders. They control a loose empire of sorts among the inland of Essos. They mainly plague the villages and towns out of reach of the Free Cities, yet every so often they attack them every few decades." Tyrion explained. "Point is Drogo is a legend among his people. Young, strong and leading a horde rumored to be a hundred thousand strong."

Geralt was baffled at such a number. "Damn…not even all the cavalry between the North and Nilffguard could match that number."

"Thing is, King Robert worries the Targaryens are readying for an invasion. That kind of army could ravage the Seven Kingdoms if it was let loose."

Geralt shrugged. "Think that is hard to believe. Numbers never ensures victory."

Bronn chuckled and nodded. "Damn right. I know a Dothraki blood rider maybe tough, but doubt they could beat armored pikemen or take a fortified keep. Savages hardly know how to properly siege."

"Besides, wonder how they'd get so many across the sea. Bet they never sailed on boat."

Tyrion sighed at this point. "Fine you two make good points. If anything I think Robert is just eager for a new war along with wiping out the Targaryens. Those seem to be the only two real passions besides his usual vices."

"Tales I know of the man, he was a legend on the field. Great commander and unmatched in personal combat, although the years haven't been kind to him ever since." Bronn remarked. "What I can tell, the big warriors of today pale to him…like that Hound fellow."

"What about him?" Geralt questioned.

"Eh, man maybe big and strong, yet a bit short on the wit. Besides he's a push over deep down with the way that Joffrey boy was talking to him. Kid insult me like that I'd smack him over the head."

At this point Geralt started to realize something bad was happening. "Any idea what it was about?"

"Something about finding someone. The prince seemed pretty pissed and the way the Hound was fiddling with his sword…well…doubt you'd want to be the fellow meeting him."

At that point Geralt suddenly got up from his seat and began to hurry out, leaving Bron and Tyrion confused. "Oi!? What are you hurry off to like that?" Bronn yelled out yet by then the Witcher had left the inn. Outside, he was quickly looking about down the roads, trying to get an idea where Sandor could have road off.

"You." He quickly said to a nearby stable hand. "The Hound. Where he rode off to."

"I..Umm…eastward. Road to the nearby village sir." The young man answered nervously before Geralt was running off in that direction.

He cursed as he realized he should have expect Joffrey to do this as he'd cut through the thin woodlands, trying to shorten the route. Nearing the road again, he could hear a horse galloping along with a panicked yell followed by hurried running. Soon he could see what was going on as Sandor was chasing after Mycah on horseback, his large sword out ready to cut the boy down.

"No please!" The boy begged as he continued to run, yet the scarred warrior didn't slow down. Geralt spirted forward through the brush, rushing out from the side as he'd tackle Mycah to the ground just as the Hound's blade slashed low for the boy's back. The blade just missed Geralt's shoulder, ripping the cloth yet not cutting the skin. For a moment the boy struggled before realizing who it was that just saved him. "Y-You…the white haired one." He stammered in shock as Geralt stood up, facing down Sandor.

"Back off Witcher. This doesn't bloody concern you." The man growled as he paced his horse about, readying for another charge.

Geralt was silent, calmly drawing his steel sword as he stared down the Hound who gave an eager grin.

"Really? You plan to protect this brat? So honorable." Sandor jested.

"Last chance to back off Hound. Tell your master that the kid got away." Geralt warned.

Sandor growled in annoyance as he'd then kick his horse into a charge, rushing at the Witcher while Mycah hurried away for the brush for cover. As the charging knight neared though, Geralt smirked as he'd made the Axii sign quickly. While it was weak, he knew the spell muddle the horse's mind as the creature seemed daze, its charge coming to a sudden stop. "What the hell?!" Sandor was caught off guard as the halting horse had him tumble off, yet he rolled with it and was quickly on his feet, facing off against the Witcher.

"What did you do? Made some…gesture with your hand." He demanded as he held up his large sword.

However Geralt rushed in to attack, moving so that Sandor had a look of surprise on his scarred face. Sandor was quick to react, twisting his blade upward to guard against the charging attack. Grunting out, he'd stagger back from the strong blow yet move to swing back at the Witcher. However in just the blink of an eye Geralt had side stepped, moving inhumanly fast as he'd slash out at again at the Hound's side. The large man barely had enough time to twist about to block the attack, locking blades for a moment before Geralt shifting his stance again and attacked from another direction.

Again and again he was forced to block as the Witcher went into a flurry of attacks, body twisting and turning to put more power behind every rapid blow. Sandor growled out as he was forced on the defensive, unable to parry or dodge away fast enough without having to block another attack. In the end he took a big leap back to just escape Geralt's reach, yet the tip of the Witcher's blade just grazed across his iron chest piece. Glancing at it, he saw how the metal was sliced open, just protecting him from a gash across the chest. He had known the Witcher had a fine weapon yet the way it cut seemed like Valyrian steel.

"I don't understand? You weren't this fast before…" He panted as Geralt relaxed his fighting stance.

"That's because I'm being serious. No spoiled prince to entertain this time."

For a moment the Hound was still, looking at the Witcher with a tense gaze. No doubt he was rethinking everything he knew about Geralt. Knowing the fact that he had been holding back made Sandor hesitant, unsure of how he should approach this. Gripping his weapon tightly in his hands, he'd suddenly lower his blade and sheath it.

"Don't have the time for this." He growled. "Boy isn't worth the damn trouble."

For a moment Geralt remained on guard before sheathing his own sword. "Smart move."

Sandor moved to his horse, pulling himself up back onto the saddle. "Hope saving that brat was worth it. If anything you only spared him a quick end." He muttered.

The Witcher didn't even remark back at the threat as the Hound rode off back towards the inn, kicking his mount hard in his frustration. Soon Geralt's attention was then onto the brush where Mycah poked his head out, eyes wide in shock after what happened. Standing up, he'd moving back onto the road yet seeming nervous with the Witcher.

"Y-You saved me. Thought that man was going to r-run me down and chop me up." He stammered fearfully. "Wait you're that man from yesterday. You saved that prince fellow." Gulping, he seem fearful again.

"Calm down. Not here to hurt or kill you. If anything that was the Hound's job." He assured the boy.

"What…that was the Hound?!" The boy looked flabbergasted at the news. "Man is supposed to be a beast yet you battled him with ease!"

Geralt shrugged. "Anyway it doesn't matter. Point is your alive and should be going home now."

"W-What if he comes back…or the prince sends more? They could hurt my family."

"Doubt Joffrey will go that far. Still I recommend you head home quickly and stay low for a few days."

The boy calmed down slightly yet nodded. "I…guess I can do that." He'd shift a bit towards the west side of the road, yet glanced back at the Witcher. "Umm…so what is you name sir?"

"Geralt. Just Geralt."

The boy gave a small smile and nod. "Well Geralt. Thank you for saving me. I'll try to be safe from now on but well…look out for yourself!' Quickly he'd hurry off, soon disappearing down the bend of the road. Giving a small sigh, he already wondered if this was the best choice and he hadn't just put the boy's family at risk. In the end though the choice was made and he just hoped it was the right one. He'd look eastward and walk back to the inn, taking his time returning there.

…

Geralt arrived back at the inn and caravan camp, noting how the servants were busy packing up supplies and other belongings. From what he heard they planned to continue onto King's Landing which would take another week with the slow caravan. Considering the last stretch, he could get there in just a few days. Still it give him time to discuss matters about the Wall and of Bran with Lord Eddard. He made sure to collect the lists that Lord Commander had given him along with the wrapped up Thann axe to show to Ned. He'd be directed to the carriage that the new Hand of the King was staying at, finding the door to it open when he arrived. He'd knock at the door before stepping in, finding Ned was busy reading over reports, mostly related to the upcoming tournament and it's costs.

"Morning Lord Stark."

Eddard didn't look away from the papers or answer back for a long moment, yet spoke up in the end. "Ah…morning Geralt." As the Witcher walked around the table, he could see hints of dark rings under the man's eyes.

"Everything alright? Look like you're going to pass out." Geralt asked.

Ned sighed deeply. "I'm fine. Last night was just…difficult." Shaking his head though, he'd look up at the Witcher. "Yet I take you didn't come here to just check up on me. I take you want to report how things are at the Wall and Castle Black."

"Indeed." Setting down the Lord Commander's report, Ned started to read over the different pages. He'd mutter a few words every so often yet soon he'd shift the papers aside and look up at Geralt. "The Lord Commander has quite large demands."

"Most of which I agree with. The Wall is undermanned, supplied and Castle Black is barely being held together. He's not asking for you to rebuilt and staff the many other keeps, just get Castle Black defenses up."

"The reports do speak of increased Wildling movements before beyond and pass the Wall…"

At the point Geralt hefted the covered axe onto the table which creaked under the large weapon's weight. "That is also correct. Thing is we had another run in with them when heading north." He'd tug the cloth off the weapon revealing the ornate yet deadly axe. The look on Ned's face showed that he knew what this was, making him glance back at the door and quickly close it before anyone outside noticed.

"How many?"

"Eight, with the Thann leading them."

Eddard rubbed over his bearded chin, a serious look showing across his face. "Makes twenty raiders then. With the far north under watched it will be easy for such parties to build up in strength and fortify while more slip over south."

"In turn they'll have Castle Black cut off and may even take the castle from the southern side. If they do that there will be nothing stopping them letting the whole Wildling Horde loose."

"What are you estimates then?"

"With what the Watch has now, it would take only a small force to do so, maybe a hundred. If they have the element of surprise and proper equipment, their chances are higher."

Ned nodded after a while thinking over what was shared. "Then this is a matter Robert can't ignore. If he does then I'll seriously question him on his reasoning, yet I fear the costs and effort may be hard to match up."

"I do know the Kingship is low on funds. Talk about increasing debts and mismanagement has been among the rumors."

"More of truths." Ned slid over some of the papers he had been reading earlier. "Look at the costs. This tournament is already a fortune in such setting up and supply, yet the prize money for the different events…well they could fund a small army of a long while."

"Ninety thousand crowns in total!" Geralt was baffled at that amounting. "Didn't realize it was that much. Makes sense why Tyrion wants to fund me for the tournament as well."

"Wait…Lord Tyrion want's to sponsor you? I'll admit I had nearly forgotten you were invited to join the event with all my other duties distracting me." Thinking for a moment, a realization came to Eddard. "What of your investigation about what happened to Bran? Did you get any insight from Tyrion?"

"I know that he wasn't involved. After that Wildling attack, he promised to help me in part of being indebted having saved his life. So far he can say his sister was missing around the time of Bran's fall, so Queen Cersei most likely was at the tower at the time." Pausing, he'd continue to speak though. "There is some good news as well. When I visited Winterfell Bran woke up."

Eddard gave a surprised look, the tired hint on his face instantly gone. "Gods…That…that is good to know. I'll be sure to send a raven to him when I can."

"However there are issues to discuss which complicates Bran as well."

He'd spend the next hour detailing the assassination attempt on Bran along with Catelyn learning the truth of the boy's fall, leading to her leaving Winterfell and hurrying in secret to King's Landing. The overall news has an angered look show on Ned's face.

"So…a conspiracy grows around what my son saw and my wife rushes blindly into it." He'd grip his hands tightly into fists, frustrated at his lack of control over these events. "When we reach the capital, I will have the guards on watch for Cat. Be it ship or road, we'll know when she'll arrive. Hopefully we'll stop her from doing anything rash."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "I feel we should shift our attention from Bran's fall to learning who hired the assassin. The tower fall is a dead end for now, yet the assassin leaves a key clue which your wife has."

"Yes…the Valyrian steel dagger. Such a weapon is one of a kind and it can easily be traced with the right sources." Ned thought for a moment. "I have some ideas on who can help us trace the weapon, yet that will have to wait."

"I do have some suspects…nothing official yet possibilities."

"I'd rather not jump to any conlussion to hastily Geralt."

"I know that and I'm not implying any are guilty, only that they are individuals who would gain from Bran's death."

Ned sighed, before giving a small nod. "Very well. Share your thoughts."

"We know for certain the Lannisters are involved. You can count Tyrion out because he wasn't at the tower and has no reason to seek harm to Bran. We can confirm Cersei was in the tower, yet if she caused Bran's fall or simply witness it we cannot be sure. However I doubt she'd hire an assassin, much less arm one with such a unique weapon."

"Care to explain?"

"I don't know Cersei that well, yet she's far more cunning then she acts. She wouldn't give someone a weapon like that if it had even the slightest chance to be connected to her in any way. I know she may seem spiteful as well, yet the assassin approach also has more faults to it, much less hiring a drifter to do the deed."

"So then who else could be involved?"

Geralt was hesitant, before he'd speak. "Cersei spoke to me when I arrived yesterday. We talked about Bran and she mentioned speaking to King Robert about the matter. The King seemed to view Bran's crippling as a…suffering."

From the way Ned's gaze hardened, he could tell that the Northern Lord didn't like what was being said. "You best not be implying what I think."

"You wanted my thoughts. I'm telling you them. If you wish me to stop then say it." Eddard was silent, being all the Witcher needed to continue. "You know Robert has a tough outlook on life. Even in his unfit state he is a warrior by heart. He'd rather die to a blade then be crippled or sickly. That's his view point of life, which he views onto others."

"Get to the point Geralt…" Ned said almost with a growl.

"Robert could have hired the assassin, seeing the act as a mercy killing for your son."

Eddard had quite a fierce look at Geralt, yet the Witcher kept that calm look. "I don't believe that."

"Neither do I, but I can't rule it out."

"It's against everything I know about Robert…"

"Maybe there is a lot you don't know about him…maybe a lot about him has changed in twenty years."

"Enough of matter. I rather deal in facts not theories."

Geralt sighed and nodded. "As you wish. All that aside…I take we just have to wait until King's Landing."

By now Eddard had calmed down as he nodded in agreement. "Yes. I think the best moment to bring up the Wall and the invading Wildlings will be at the Small Council. If we make our case before the other members, they can possibly support the Night's Watch requests." He'd sort out all the papers before looking to the axe. "For now keep that weapon hidden and safe. It will be the best proof we have."

Geralt picked up and rewrapped the weapon, hefting it off the table once more. "Then we wait until then. Anyway call me if you have anything else you wish to discuss over."

"Of course." Ned muttered as Geralt moved to leave yet the Northern Lord suddenly spoke up. "One thing Geralt, thank you for saving that boy."

The Witcher glanced back, curious at how the man knew.

"I saw the Hound come back with quite the angered look. Knowing his role serving Joffrey…well…not hard to deduce." Ned gave a small smile of gratitude. "Enjoy your evening Geralt."

Geralt was silent, yet deep down appreciated the compliment. He'd leave the carriage room, closing the door behind him before going and repacking the Wildling axe safely away in his private spot. Just as he finished, he'd hear someone call out for him.

"Geralt! There you are!" Tyrion yelled as the dwarf hurried over, Bronn following close behind him.

"Crazy bastard. You left us baffled after you ran off like that." Bronn muttered.

"Sorry. Just remember something very important."

"Ah no harm in the end yes? Anyway we still have half a day left to ourselves. How about we just waste the day with drinks and stories while we can. Doubt we'll have that much freedom down at the capital."

Geralt smirked and shrugged at the idea. "You know, that's not a bad idea. Better to enjoy ourselves while we can."

"Heh, bet twenty crowns I'll have you under the table by the end of the night Witcher." Bronn challenged with a smug grin as the trio head for the inn.

"Careful Bronn, if you knew the stuff I drank you'd back down on that challenge."

"As you say white hair. Fine then first round is on you then!"

Tyrion chuckled at how the two boasted and taunted at each other. He already knew this evening be an entertaining one and a fine end to this long trip.

…

Any worries Geralt had were washed away with strong drink and amusing chatter as he, Tyrion and Bronn enjoyed the inn's bar for the whole evening and night. He had to admit that this world had quite its special share of drinks, although during his half drunken tales he did boast about the unique ales and bears from back home. Soon even he lost track of events, yet remembered an out drinking everyone except for Tyrion in the end. It baffled Geralt how someone half his size could hold his own, although he remembered that being a mutant seemingly didn't enhance his alcohol resistance. By the time his head cleared up, Tyrion had staggered away with a hundred crowns and Bronn had crawled off to his room in the inn.

"Ugh…going to be a crazy tale to share with others when I get back." Geralt muttered, as he rubbed his head. Taking one of the emptied bottles, he got a bit of water to help clear his head as he'd head outside. The camp was peaceful unlike yesterday with the trial that had happened. Pacing around the inn, he did pause when he stared at the pen where Lady had been caged up. Already he wondered how the dire wolf felt…no doubt confused and scared over what was happening. "Always the innocent ones…" He muttered as he'd sip his drink and move along the road.

Glancing up, he could see it was a full moon tonight, casting a cool light across the area. Oddly the surroundings felt…familiar in a strange way. Suddenly he'd hear a male voice, a calm and cheerful one that seemed quite close. The words he sung though were haunting to the Witcher's ears.

 _ **His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you**_

The voice was coming from around the other side of the inn, at the intersection where all the main roads met. Curious yet on guard, he'd move closer as he followed the voice.

 _ **His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you**_

 _ **Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you**_

Rounding the building, he'd see the open crossroads. At the center was as sturdy sign post that directed off to the many different keeps and towns spread out in all directions. Yet there was someone sitting on top of the highest sign, the one marked as 'King's Landing', their back facing Geralt.

 _ **Gold, silver, jewels – he lays riches before you**_

The figure was a man with buzz cut hair, although he couldn't see his face from this angle. His clothes were simple yet quite colorful with a greenish top and blue trousers with a pair of worn yet fine leather boots. There was a satchel set across his back, filled with scrolls and papers along with a dagger set on his right hip.

 _ **Dues need be repaid, and he will come for you**_

 _ **All to reclaim, no smile to console you**_

At this point Geralt had a realization of who this was. A mix of feeling came to him, snapping the drunken daze that lingered in his head. Already he was questioning how this was possible, yet remember that this person…no this thing…could easily slip between worlds just like Ciri. Part of him felt like to turn away yet deep down he knew this being could help him. But thinking of the cost…had him hesitate.

 _ **He'll snare you in bonds, eyes glowing', a fire**_

 _ **To gore and torment you, till the stars expire**_

The song ended and at that point the figure would shift about, turning on the sign post to face towards Geralt. His face was very unremarkable, a look that you could never notice or remember seeing twice. The man had a friendly look, yet Geralt knew better as he saw sharp cunning eyes, sly and calculating. Looking at the Witcher, the man grinned as if seeing an old friend.

"Geralt. My favorite Witcher…now this is a surprise indeed." The man chuckled while Geralt gave a calm yet serious look back at him. "Why so quiet friend? Aren't you happy to see good old Gaunter O'Dimm?"

…

 **Notice: The Man of Glass returns! You all knew he'd be showing up! Anyway I will be working on a special short chapter of this intense encounter, so expect an early update later this week! A bit of forewarning though, my classes are beginning in a week which will be muddling up my chapter updates, yet I plan to continue writing no matter what. Overall please review and PM me through reactions and thoughts!**


	13. S1-E12: The Man of Glass

**Chapter 12: The Man of Glass**

Geralt stared down Gaunter, the man keeping that friendly grin even with that cold gaze he received. He had encounter many strange and powerful beings throughout his life. The most powerful spirits, ancient relicts like the Hags and even Djinn. Yet O'Dimm was something else, a being that didn't follow the normal rules or categories of any monster of his world or beyond. Stopping time, controlling weather, teleporting, reality bending and steal souls. He was certain that was just a fraction of Gaunter's abilities and he was not eager to see any more.

"What are you doing here O'Dimm?" Geralt calmly muttered.

"Where exactly? If you mean this inn it's for the food. Every century they always have something new and pleasing to taste." The man chuckled. "As for this world…well…I considering it a fascinating drama to watch."

"Drama? You make it sound you're watching some play."

"Ah because it is. Every time it's something new. The Doom of Valyeria. The Targaryen Conqeust. The Dance of Dragons. Robert's Rebellion." He'd smirk. "And now this…I wonder what will play out with you being here. I can say you're really thrown things out of loop."

"So are you spouting history or trying to make a point?" Geralt questioned sternly.

Gaunter kept that sly smile despite the Witcher's rudeness. "Tell me. What have you noticed about this world? I'm sure you've taken the time to read up on its history quite deeply."

Geralt nodded. "For one this world is nearly magically dead. Seems like the Doom you mentioned ended that era. Such things are expected throughout a world's history, like how it is for the elves magic and might waning back home." Thinking for a moment though he'd continue. "Also the world itself. Its…feels stagnate."

"Indeed." Gaunter leaned back on her sign post perch. "I've been to many world Geralt. Places that would dazzle and confuse you. I'm sure Ciri has shared a few tales."

"Yes…pretty wild stories considering talk of flying metal carriages and cities of glass towers. Make even the elves even at their grandest sound simple while the human empires look backwards. So what's your point?"

"Doesn't this land seem odd to you? Thousands of years of history yet it's remained the same. Perhaps it is the constant warring and conflict. Maybe a supernatural force holding things back." Yet Gaunter shrugged. "Could be the humans here are just that stupid."

"Get to the point Gaunter. I already feel this matter is a waste of my time."

"Being so dismissive. Geralt, you forget what you bring wherever you go. No matter your intentions be it misguided nobility or selfish gain, you bring change and chaos."

The Witcher's eyes narrowed at the claim, remembering plenty of other supernatural beings saying such claims. "So that's it? You see me as an amusing wild card?

"Yes…along with Ciri."

Just hearing her name had a surprised look show on Geralt's face, the kind of reaction that Gaunter was expecting. Yet it was short lived as the Witcher's face became stern once more. "Where is she?"

"Heh focused on her still? After our matter with Olgierd was finished you didn't hesitate to ask me to save her, even with the promises of riches and power."

Geralt was silent, keeping that calm yet cold stare at O'Dimm.

"I wonder…I never got your final thoughts on Olgierd after collecting his 'payment'. Do you feel any regrets for condemning a man's soul to eternal torment?"

"What does it matter? He's dead and gone. Nothing more than a blackened skull in your collection."

"So defensive." Gaunter sighed, tapping one foot against the sign post pointing northward to Winterfell. "Consider this my price to learn about Ciri. I do always enjoy your blunt insight after all."

It was an odd demand, yet one Geralt couldn't ignore. Right now he was desperate to learn anything about Ciri, even if it meant getting answers from Gaunter. For a long while the Witcher thought back to the many weeks he spent fulfilled the immortal noble's wishes, which were quite impossible tasks. Lucky he was known for doing so. "Olgierd was a man giving many chances in life. He started with more than most yet craved more, becoming a bandit for just the thrill. When karma caught up and misfortune came…"

"And he found me." Gaunter finished. "Please continue."

"…You asked for a high price to help reverse. A loved one's life. It is an evil price yet you didn't force it and Olgierd accepted it knowing the outcome. He tried to reason away the guilt, yet he knew deep down it was wrong. Add in the selfish choice for immortality…well…makes it hard to relate."

"Greed easily divides others. Ah yet again I interrupt…"

"While you did replace his heart with stone which in turn hardened his feelings, it doesn't excuse his choices. Again and again it was for selfish gain, no matter who suffered. The prince from Ofir, his wife Iris, her family…countless others…they all paid for his choices."

"So in the end what drove him? The stone of heart I gave or himself?" O'Dimm questioned.

"Base desire, even when it was pointless in the end. He had many chances to back away yet again and again he came to you, making deal after deal for his own gain, yet it never was enough. Even when it came down to the ultimate price he was selfish, avoiding it however he could." Giving a sigh, he'd give a sharp look at the 'humble' merchant. "Olgierd deserved it in the end. Besides he did screw me over so with the Toad Prince Contract, set me up for the fall and getting roped in with you."

Gaunter clapped his hands after that Witcher's speech, seeming quite pleased in the end. "Quite the logical reasoning. In the end I can see why you didn't try to save him."

"What did you expect?"

The man shrugged innocently. "I know how you looked into my past by visiting that blind professor. You could have challenged me, risk it all to banish me for a few centuries and save him. In the end though you knew better." At this point he'd hop off the signpost, landing effortlessly to the ground. "Call me what you will. The Devil. Evil Incarnate. In the end mortals like Olgierd or Radovid are far worse in the end. For me…I am just a vagrant merchant after all and serve the needs of others." For a moment Geralt thought he saw the man's face change, skin grey, eyes a piercing red and unnatural angler. It was just a slit second yet it was enough to have his heart racing.

For a long moment the two shared down each other, Gaunter's face relaxed and cheery while Geralt cold and expressionless. "So…I've answered you question. Now tell me everything you know about Ciri."

O'Dimm chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Yes a deal is a deal. I am a man of my word after all." He'd slowly pace closer as he continued to speak. "Ciri is currently lost between space and time. You see Geralt her Elder Blood is powerful indeed, yet even it is bound to rules and limitations, just like me. As you mentioned this world's magic is thin, nearly dead. The only reason you and her arrived here was through the Tower gate."

"Yah I know that much. The gate was meant to reach the prime world of the White Frost so she could stop it."

"Yes…but something went wrong didn't it?" Gaunter pointed out, making Geralt growl in frustration. "She didn't succeed and you rushed in blindly after her."

"Doesn't matter. Finish your explanation!"

The man sighed. "Very well. Overall this world is isolated. With the magic so thin it takes a direct link like the Tower Gate along with potent power to arrive here. At some point Ciri was in a dire situation and used her warping ability. Thus…"

"The thin magic. It's not letting her return back." Geralt finished in realization.

"Very good! Heh, for a man who hates portals and teleportation, you understand how they work quite well." Gaunter praised.

Geralt remained focused on the matter though. "So Ciri is trapped in space and time. Unable to pull herself to back to this world or any others. Is she in any danger?"

"That I can't be sure. Such abilities are complicated, especially when disrupted."

Thinking for a moment, a realization came to Geralt. "Wait…if the magic here is so thin, how can you visit here?"

"Simple. I'm not like Ciri. As I said, we all follow different rules and I have special ways of getting around."

A grim thought came to Geralt, one that had him sick to the gut. "So…what will it take to get her back?"

"Pardon?"

"Aren't you going to say it? Offer yank her back into the present in exchange for my soul or something?"

Gaunter's face had a hint of surprise to it before the man chuckled and then broke out into laughter. For a while he laughed, yet seeing the Witcher's dead serious look, he'd quickly quieted down. "Heh you really mean it. Didn't think you'd be that desperate." He'd think for a moment, giving a small sigh though. "Sadly I can't agree to such an offer, even if it is that tempting."

"How come?"

"Because in the end I can't up hold the end of the deal. I can't bring Ciri back."

"What? I thought with your abilities that be a simple task."

O'Dimm sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. "You simply lack understanding of how difficult it is. Imagine trying to pluck a grain of sand that is moving at the speed of light within a vast emptiness with nothing more than tweezers. That is how difficult it is to find Ciri."

In the end Geralt calmed down, guess that even the supernatural merchant had limits. "So then. If you can't bring her back then what can."

The man thought for a moment, pacing about a bit before speaking. "A summoning ritual of the highest level would work. Issue of course is would require at least three sorceresses of great power which are sadly lacking along with the fact they'd quickly lose their arcane power while remaining her."

"Right…so what else."

"An artifact of great power could do, yet most of those are destroyed or lost in the ruins of Valyria. Such a trek would be long and dangerous though…besides I'm unsure of the Valyrian's has such powerful magic."

"So far your ideas aren't helping Gaunter." Geralt grumbled.

"Just sharing all possible choices, no matter how unlikely. Besides the last one is beyond any of our control."

"Fine then. Still tell me anyway."

"A natural reawakening of magic. Something like the Conjunction would do, yet there is little chance of that happening. Besides that there is nothing else I can think of."

Sighing, Geralt glanced at his bottle of water before chugging down what was left, hoping to get the last bit of alcohol to numb the frustration he felt. Yet there wasn't much to be had, making him grumble before throwing the glass bottle off into the brush. "So what now? Unless you have anything else to say, I think this is where we part ways."

"So quick to say goodbye?" O'Dimm chuckled. "Again I do apologize about Ciri, yet there is another dire matter remaining…that is if you haven't forgotten about it."

It took Geralt to realize what the merchant was meaning. "The White Frost. Damn it I've been caught up in so much that I nearly forgot about it." Yet thinking further, a worried look came to him. "Wait…what about home? The Northern Kingdoms, Yenn, Triss and everyone else."

"Slow down." Gaunter muttered before strolling past the Witcher. "All this talk as me parched. Why don't we continue our chat inside?" Already the man was moving towards the inn, making Geralt hesitant to follow. In the end though he did, knowing that Gaunter was his only reliable source of information on the workings of this world and beyond it.

Back inside the inn, the place was seemingly cleared out of patrons, with only the late night staff busy cleaning about. Soon as Gaunter entered the main room, the fat middle-aged woman who owned the place gave a grin seeing the man. "Ah Gaunter! Always a late arrival as always." The woman chuckled.

"The roads have remained the same all these years Masha. I've found I always reach my destinations at the same time no matter what." Gaunter replied back in a friendly manner. "The usual for me and whatever my good friend he wants."

"Just light ale for me." Geralt muttered before the woman nodded, heading behind the bar to get their orders.

The merchant moved for an empty table set in one corner, relaxing back in his seat with a sigh. "So then…back to the topic. I can say things have calmed down back in your world. The Wild Hunt is completely disbanded yet since the battle a winter has crept across the Northern Realms."

"How serious?"

"Eh…Mild considering, yet with the war in the North wrapping up, most won't be prepared for it. It has only been a few weeks at least."

"Weeks?" Geralt started yet realized the time was no doubt different between worlds. No doubt years could pass here yet it be months back home.

O'Dimm noticed the Witcher's reaction, deciding to continue his explanation. "Your friends have been worried since you and Ciri disappeared. That strange elf has been trying hard to contact you, even with so many powerful sorceresses aiding him. They haven't given up…perhaps blind hope or just instinct."

For a while Geralt glanced away, a bit taken aback knowing everyone still believed in him and Ciri. It was funny that Avallac'h was trying so hard to help, considering he had left after threatening the elf. "Guess that is good news to hear."

At that point the inn keeper would arrive with their orders, setting a fresh meat pie and mug of apple cider for Gaunter who grinned at the sight. "Just enough for one last pie Gaunter. I hope it will be to your liking."

"You're a saint Masha as always." The merchant opened the purse around his neck, handing a few gold crowns to the woman, quite the tidy sum considering.

"And you my most generous costumer." The woman said with a pleased smile before hurrying back to the bar.

"Such a goodly and talented woman. I'm thankful you've spared her future with your choices." The man remarked as he'd take a testing sip from his mug, giving a pleasing grin at the taste.

"Spared?" Geralt questioned in a confused manner.

"Never mind that. Anyway the White Frost itself...I'll admit this is the prime world, the place it originates."

"That true? If so it's doing a bad job considering."

"Again you forget about the rules of time and space. Just because the Frost hasn't consumed this world now, doesn't mean it hasn't already in the future. Its complex to say…but even so this place has resisted the endless winter many times. Perhaps that is why this world remains so stagnate at the same time." Shrugged, he'd reach down to a pouch at his belt before taking out a worn wooden spoon. While it looked so plain and ordinary, Geralt knew better. If anything he felt more worry about that then any weapon or monster he had faced. However the man simply began to eat his pie, yet noticed the Witcher's tense reaction. "Just a spoon Geralt. I don't plan to shove it into your eye."

"Right…" The Witcher muttered before taking a drink from his mug of ale. "Anyway I have been quick to research about anything related to the Frost. The best link is the far North, beyond the Wall and the White Walkers."

"Yes. I can say I've had the same deduction for a good while." The merchant muttered back between bites of pie. "I have seen many things Geralt. The White Walkers are something different…"

"Are? So you mean they do exist?"

"They do. I haven't strayed too close to far north, yet the power I sense is…unique. Not certain if the Walkers are the source of the Frost of a physical manifestation. It could be that because of this world's resistance and they're more direct means of spreading." Shrugging, he'd eat more pie before continuing. "Whatever they are they've existed for thousands of years and have been building up their strength for half that time. I doubt the humans of this world will be able to repel them like they did in ages past."

He'd remember the haunting vision of Ciri being bested by that creature, which he could only guess being a White Walker, some high ranking one from what he could tell. "Yes. If the stories I've read are true, these things are worse than the Wild Hunt." Glancing up at Gaunter he'd continue to speak. "So…what will it take to stop them?"

"Ciri, yet even then I doubt she will be enough. She failed already, underestimated the threat at hand. Can't finish a prophecy without a chosen one." The merchant calmly stated as he'd finish the last of his pie and washed it down with cider. "However everyone isn't doomed. No…they have you."

"I swear if you start babbling about fate I will hit you." Geralt threatened, making O'Dimm laugh out at such boldness.

"Not at all. It's just you're this world's best chance now." The man calmly explained. "Your knowledge, experience and fighting skill is unmatched here. The prime champion to rise up for the people."

The mention had a grim feeling come to Geralt, thinking to years back when he defeated the Grand Master, a man who believed himself such an individual. "You're wrong."

"You lie to yourself. Already you have friends and allies. Think back to Kaer Morhen and the final battle of the Wild Hunt. In the end you were the one who gathered such a powerful force and led them, besting an enemy who outnumber and outmatched you. Deep down under that lone wolf mindset, there is a leader within you." The way Gaunter spoke, he sounded overly grandiose which didn't help Geralt's mood.

"Enough." Geralt muttered. "If you have nothing better to say, I think I'll be leaving about now."

"Ah…true. I have kept you up as it is." Gaunter would stand up and stretch a bit as he'd pace around the table. "Yet I do have a few parting gifts and advice. Overall I warn you to watch yourself in King's Landing. You won't find a city with more backstabbing nobles then there. Chose well who you trust."

"And a gift? What's the catch?"

"No catch. Considering our long chat the price for it. Besides, with what is to come you'll need all the help you can get." The man smirked a bit as he'd continue on towards the inn's exit. "Good fortune Witcher. Expect us to meet again." With that he'd was out the door.

For a long moment Geralt sat at the table for a long moment, thinking over the supernatural merchant's words. He wasn't sure how much he should believe about the man, yet it didn't make sense for him to lie as well. After all what was there to gain? Giving a sigh, he'd stare at his empty mug for a moment before hearing the neighing of a horse outside which was…oddly familiar. "No…can't be." He muttered as he got up and walked outside. Glancing down the road to see a brown furred mare walking towards him casually, as if finally arriving after being called.

"Roach?!" Geralt was baffled. True his mounts had an odd habit of appearing in the most unlikely of places, although he had multiple theories relating to the horses being exposed to portals, potions and his Signs. Yet it was obvious this was O'Dimm's doing. Already he wondered if the merchant was toying with him, bringing his trusty companion along instead of his other allies. Perhaps it was a limitation…or just to nudge him along the path of 'champion of Westeros'.

He'd walk up to the horse who huffed in what he guessed was annoyance, making him chuckle. "Good to see you too." He'd rub the mare along the snout and neck before moving to the saddle bags, curious to see if his supplies remained. Quickly checking through, everything seemed in place. The massive stock piles of herbs and handful of exotic materials remained yet oddly some things were missing. "No monster parts…trophies gone too…" He muttered, guessing Gaunter had taken them to avoid drawing attention.

Checking the money bag though, he found the Orens were gone and replaced with Crowns instead, although at least third of the amount he original. "Bastard took my money…" He cursed, then again maybe the merchant had account for inflation when it came to currency counts. Checking further he found his extra bombs, potions and oils were fine too which was a blessing indeed. "Well this has turned things around."

Taking Roach's reins, he'd guide the horse to the caravan camp and find a post close by where he slept. He'd make sure to safely pack his other belongings into the large saddle bags before going to bed. Nasr would appear just as he'd lay back onto the bedroll, the grey raven landing on the post near Roach. "Hello hello!" The bird murmured, giving a curious look to the horse who glanced back.

"Don't be noisy…" Geralt grumbled as he'd relax back, trying to clear his mind despite thinking over everything Gaunter had shared. Part of him knew though that the merchant was right about how he was the best chance this world had for survival. It was daunting and felt out of place…making him that conflicted on the matter. Yet with effort he'd push the thoughts aside before drifting into a worried sleep, trying to avoid the grim thought of Ciri lost in the vast void.

…

 **Notice: Quite a chatty chapter considering. I do hope it was interesting enough and gave some answers about what is going on. Don't expect this to be the last of Gaunter though, he'll always be lurking in the background after all. Anyway I am hoping for a full on chapter before next Monday when my classes start, yet from then on chapter release dates will be varied.**


	14. S1-E13: City of Kings Part 1

**Chapter 13: City of King's Part 1**

 **Forward: You may notice that King's Landing and the Iron Throne are described differently then what you see in the show. I found the book descriptions and certain art more fitting, so decided to reference those instead.**

It was three days since Geralt had encountered Gaunter at the Crossroads Inn, having left along with the royal caravan heading southward to King's Landing. During this time, he kept mostly to himself, only chatting up with Tyrion or Bronn during the ride. At the least the road here was well kept and mostly downhill at times. Overall his time alone let him think on Gaunter's words and advice. Even though he distrusted the demon, he knew O'Dimm had little to gain by lying or trying to hinder him in saving Ciri. Amusing the merchant seemed to care about the Witcher's happiness, maybe just for his amusement or a show of good faith.

"Still wish I hadn't met him…" He muttered as he'd guide Roach further along, moving past the heavy carriage that the royal family had. The oversized and heavy vehicle was the main reason why traveling was slow, considering it was more of a small house on wheels. From what Ned told him, the axel and wheels broke often, making Robert so mad he threatened to burn the thing down.

Chuckling at the image, he'd hear someone riding up behind him, making him glance back to see that it was Eddard. The man looked tired still yet the dark rings had faded more since last time they had talked. "We should be seeing the capital soon enough." Ned muttered as he rode alongside Geralt.

"When was the last you visited?"

"During the end of the Rebellion and a bit afterwards. City was a mess after being sacked…yet twenty years should have given enough time for it to be rebuilt."

"From what Tryion told me it should be bigger than most cities from back home. Even rival City of Golden Towers within the Nilfgaard Empire."

"Interesting name for a city. You'll have to tell me more later on."

Geralt nodded as they rode on, being silent as the distant sounds of the sea could be heard. Soon they'd reach a turn in the road which had a grand view, one that had Geralt gawk a bit. Set in a large bay was King's Landing, a massive city of tanned builds spread out for miles across the area. There were three large structures that got his interest, each set on top of a large hill set in a triangle like position. The southern hill had massive chapel which he guessed was the Great Sept of Baelor. Off at the far eastern hill was a grand palace, the Red Keep. The northern hill had a broken domed ruin which he heard was the Dragonpit, a coliseum that held the lesser dragons from more recent Targaryen dynasties.

"Is quite the sight indeed." Ned remarked, getting Geralt's attention.

"Indeed. Wish Dandelion was here, if he saw what this country had to offer, he'd be writing a whole new guide."

The group rode down around the massive city walls before approaching the western gate. It seemed the group's arrival was expected considering the lineup of city guards and the crowding commoners at the open city gates. It was quite the entrance considering the stone faces that surrounding the massive gateway, depicting the seven aspects of Faith. As the caravan began to file through the gate, there be cheering from the crowds, seeming eager for their King's return. Robert though wasn't seen though, no doubt resting inside the giant royal carriage.

"Quite the hero's welcome." Geralt muttered to Eddard as they rode along, the royal guards helping the city watch kept the people in line.

"Robert is quite the popular ruler."

At least when Jon Arryn was the Hand. He managed the Kingdom's duties well from what I know, so it's going to be hard to match up."

Eddard sighed and nodded. "Aye…it is going to be."

Plenty of eyes were quickly focus on the two, no doubt people recognizing Lord Eddard yet seeming curious about Geralt. He'd catch hushed voices remarking about him as they mentioned his white hair and pale skin, two swords on his back along with the many scars he had. No doubt rumors and gossip would spread, that is unless such talk has already creeped down from the north already. The convoy soon passed through the city gate and began its trek along the main street. From what Geralt could tell they were riding through a crafters district, considering the mix of workshops and stores set around the streets. They'd pass through a few squares yet the one set before the Great Sept was the largest, having the biggest crowd waiting for them. Thankfully the route westward was clear as the group soon escaped the cheering crowds as they'd near the Red Keep.

Geralt had visited plenty of palaces and castles back home, yet the Red Keep was quite the impressive structure. While not as flashy as the castle of Beauclair in Toussaint yet it was more lavish them most Nortern Realm keeps. One thing he rated it highly on was its very defendable position, considering the hill it was built on made approaching it by land quite limited along with the high red walls, battlements and towers added layers of defense. They'd soon arrive at the main court yard where the keep servants and courtiers were awaiting to help the caravan unpack.

Ned slowed his horse as a page handled the mount, giving him a chance to dismount. Geralt did the same, making sure to grab the wrapped axe off his pack before Roach was guided off to the stables. Not long, a courtier would hurry up to the two, a well-kept young man who bowed and greeted them. "Welcome Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested."

To the Witcher, it seemed odd for such a meeting to happen just at their arrival, yet no doubt the council members wished to do their duties after the months without the Hand or King. Ned didn't seemed trouble with the request as he'd nod and glance back to the wagon that was carrying Sansa and Arya along with their caretaker. "Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper." He'd then last to one of his Northrern guards, one who Geralt recognized as Jory, Winterfell's guard captain. He hadn't had much time to chat with the man before yet heard he was skilled and loyal to the family. "Jory, you go with them."

The captain nodded. "Yes my lord."

Ned's attention focused back on the courtier, seeming ready to be led inside the keep. "If you'd…like to change into something appropriate…" The young man asked, glancing over the lord's leather traveling clothes which were a bit dirtied from the ride here.

Eddard just gave a small glare, making the man give a small gulp and nod. "Very well my lord. This way." The courtier turned to lead the way into the Keep, Ned following along while tugging off his leather gloves. Geralt followed behind them, entering into the main hall, yet they'd stop before the great doors of the throne room. "Umm…may I ask your companion to wait outside?" The courtier politely asked.

"Geralt here is an advisor to me and has an important matter to share personally with the council. Don't let the scars or swords worry you, he's trustworthy." Eddard assured the courtier.

The young man sighed and nodded to the guards at the door, who'd push them open for the group. The Witcher guessed the council chambers was set close to the throne room, much like other palaces he had been too. He was curious to at least see the famous Iron Throne, since he heard so many tales about it. The throne room itself was massive in size, yet considering the throne itself, it made sense for the hall to be so large.

"Damn…that is one big throne." He muttered as he gazed at what seemed to be a jutting pile of swords. The throne was a mountain of blades that were fused together and forged into the rough shape of a throne. He heard how the throne was made of a thousand blades surrendered to Aegon the First, who'd then command his dragon Balerion the Black Dread to heat them while a small army of smiths hammed the throne into shape. It was taller than any throne he had seen, towering well over him and Eddard as they neared it. Even the steps up to the seat itself were made of fused swords while the backing of the throne itself fanned out in a fearsome display. One tale he remember said that Aegon had the throne designed in such a way so no king would ever sit comfortable, a reminder of their difficult position as the Kingdom's leader.

"Impressive isn't it?" Ned muttered. "Been twenty years since I last saw it."

"Imposing, yet far from comfortable looking." Geralt remarked back.

"I know. I sat on it once we took the Keep. Makes you realize how difficult reigning from it can be."

The Witcher was curious to know more about Ned's tale, yet focused on the task at hand. They'd move around to a back area of the Throne, a private lavish room where the Small Council met. Sitting around the meeting table were a group of people, who Geralt would regonize from description at least. During the ride he had questioned Tyrion deeply about the current members of the Small Council, wanting to be prepared when it came to dealing with them.

The first member to greet them was a chubby bald man dressed in fine robes. He'd give a small smile to Ned, hands out to shake with the Lord before being greeted. "Lord Varys." Eddard said politely.

"We heard about the trouble on the King's Road. We all prey for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."

"Of course." Eddard muttered, seeming to want to avoid the matter.

Varys, Master of Whispers, the position of spymaster. Geralt had dealt with such types during his time in Vazima, mainly with the foul mouthed Thaler who had served for Tameria. Many people thought such individuals to be rogues in black clothes and wearing cowls, yet that was just a myth. He could tell that Varys had a shifty cunning about him as the man smiled and nodded to Eddard, yet had his sharp eyes shift towards the Witcher. There was a curious surprise in them, yet it was quick to become calculating as he noted Geralt's unique features.

"Geralt of Rivia I presume?" Varys asked as he'd slip his hands into the hanging sleeves of his robes. Eddard meanwhile would move on to greet and chat with the council members.

"Greets Lord Varys. I'm surprised you know who I am. Haven't exactly been active beyond the North."

"It's my duty to know Witcher." The man remarked, again showing his knowledge of Geralt's profession. "When unknown strangers from foreign lands come to our shores, one must be informed after all. I've heard of your accomplishment bested two wildlings raiding parties after all." A hint of surprise showed on the Witcher's face yet Varys kept a calm smile to him. "Don't worry yourself Geralt. We'll have much to discuss very soon."

"Right…of course." Geralt muttered. Already he could tell the man was very good at his job, getting such information from the other side of the continent so quickly. He'd have to be careful with what he said and did around the city.

His attention moved onto the other Council members. Eddard just finished hugged and greeting the youngest member of the council, Renly Baratheon, Robert's youngest brother and the Master of Laws. Geralt could see the resemblance he had to his other brother, yet had a more formal charm with the way he acted.

"You look tired from the road Eddard. I told the others we should have postponed the meeting for tomorrow." Renly remarked with a small chuckle.

"But we have a kingdom to look after." A smooth voice said, belonging to the well-dressed gentleman who stood by his seat. "I hoped to meet you for some time Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

Eddard looked to the man, giving a small nod as he'd removed his cloak. "She has Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

Petyr chuckled and gave a small shrug. "All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone."

"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."

"Ah but it wasn't the man that I chose my lord, it was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for which I'm sure you'd agree."

Ned had an odd look in his eyes as the two lords stared down each other, a small feeling of tension already forming between them. From what Geralt knew Petyr Baelish was lord of a minor house set in quite unremarkable region called the Fingers. Despite his low standing, he had risen over the years through his financial skills and courtly cunning, leading to him now being Master of Coin. Just from the hints of his and Eddard's conversation, he had quite the history with the Starks already.

Before the two could say anything more, the old man sitting nearby, dressed in Maester robes and chains would speak up. "I humbly beg your pardon Lord Stark."

"Grand Maester."

The old man gave a small smile back. "How many years has it been? You were a young man last we met."

"Aye and you served another king."

Pycelle glanced away slightly, seeming nervous at the mention. Geralt knew this man had served the role of Grand Maester for forty years now, a quite long time for such a position. He knew the role was a difficult one considering the Grand Maester was expected to be knowledgeable in as many topics as possible, which often led to older individuals taking the seat. Of course often they died in just a few years, which had led to more lax choosing, which in this case Pycelle having been chosen so many decades ago.

A sudden realization would come to the man as he'd suddenly shift to reach into his robes. "Oh how forgetful of me." He'd soon take out a large metal pin shaped as a fist clenching a spike. "This belongs to you now." Eddard took the pin and examined it. "Anyway shouldn't we begin?"

"Aye we will, once King Robert arrives." Ned muttered as he'd attach the pin to his leather vest.

The gathered council gave odd looks to each other, Renly smirking a bit even.

"His grace has many cares. He entrusts many small matters to us." Varys explained.

"No doubt, yet in this case he will be attending." Eddard again repeated before sitting down.

At that point whatever amused looks the council members had shifted to more confused ones. "I don't seem to understand Lord Stark? The King hasn't come to a meeting before and I doubt he will for this." Baelish remarked. "There has yet to be a matter important enough for him to grace us with his presence."

"Yet there is a matter for him to be here. Two in fact. While we wait though I feel I should introduce a friend of mine." Ned gestured to Geralt who had been hanging back, making everyone's gaze shift to him. "I'd like to introduce Geralt of Rivia. He's a traveler from across the Narrow Sea and a respected adviser of mine. He has been helping me deal with troubling matters in the far ends of the North."

At that point, Geralt stepped up to the table and look to all the gathered council members. "Greets to all of you."

"As to you good sir. I must say I've never heard of a Rivia anywhere in Essos." Pycelle murmured.

"Where I come from it's a bit…beyond Essos." Geralt answered back. "Yet that isn't the matter for why I'm here. There is a threat in the North, one that can put the whole northern region of continent at risk."

"Are you meaning the Wildlings?" Renly asked curiously. "Heard plenty of tales about them, yet I question how a group of savages are a risk to us when we have the Wall and Night's Watch to guard us."

"Indeed." A new deep voice remarked, making everyone turn to look to the entrance of the room. Shocked looks showed on the other council members' faces, while Eddard had a small amused smile. There was Robert, dressed in his kingly finery and royal crown, looking the most well-groomed since the Witcher had ever seen him. The stout man looked at the group with a stern glare before moving forward to the empty head seat. "Well…did I come here to be gawked at or to seek your advice?"

"I…Of course your grace." Pycelle quickly remarked. "It is just unexpected to see you visit us."

Renly smirked, lodging back in his seat more. "Indeed. Pleased to see you stepping up brother." His tone was the most informal, yet Robert didn't seem to mind his brother's words.

"I came because Eddard insisted for over a week on the road. Hard to ignore such a request." Robert muttered as he'd sit back into his seat. "And considering you've brought Geralt along…well…I can imagine this is an important issue."

"Indeed it is your majesty." The Witcher answered back as he walked closer to the meeting table. "Lord Stark sent me to look into the strange events happening in the far north along with evaluate the Night's Watch and the Wall. Considering I was attacked by a second raiding party of Wildlings wasn't a good start."

"Eddard was quick to tell me that news." Robert remarked. "I'll admit, a second encounter within just a few months is rare indeed."

"Indeed. I know you're a man who doesn't care for politics and finances. That isn't your specialty. You're a commander and warrior, someone who fully understands the ways of war." Geralt paused for a moment before he'd heft up the wrapped up axe, tugging the wrappings off before dropping it heavily on the table. Pycelle and Baelish flinched from the weapon slamming down, yet the Grand Maester gave a curious look at the weapon.

"I recognize this design. Yes…very few Maesters have ever gotten to see a Thenn weapon in person. Such studies are limited to a few…uhh…outdated tomes." The old man muttered.

"Then you understand that they are a group of Wildlings that shouldn't be underestimated." His gaze focused on Robert once more. "Overall that makes twenty Wildlings that have intruded on your lands. If they had joined together they could have causes some serious damage to more isolated villages and travelers on the road."

"I know how they work Witcher. The tactics of pillaging are a rough yet effective method."

"Which is the reason why they're a risk. I'm met plenty of people who believe the Wall will just keeping the Wildlings back. Well obviously they have found ways to get by and that will be the key to truly invading.

Baelish leaned forward in his seat, giving a questioning look to the Witcher. "Surely you must be exaggerating. The Wildlings can be that united and we have the Night's Watch-"

"The Watch is undermanned Lord Baelish." Ned intrupted before putting down the leather bound folder the Lord Commander had given Geralt. "Check these reports, all done under Lord Commander Mormont's trusted stewards."

The Small Council took turns reading the reports, Varys seeming the more interested as he took his time checking over every detail. Robert was surprisingly focused on the reports as well, although Geralt expected as much from a man so focused on warfare.

"Geralt does seem correct sire." Varys remarked. "Only about a thousand men keep watch between the three remaining keeps. Considering most are untrained petty criminals, makes their standing value even less considering."

Robert remained silent as he'd glance to the papers and then at Geralt. "So you believe the Night's Watch is that weak and the Wall is that venerable?"

"Not saying the Wildlings are just going to march up to the Wall like any other army and siege it. No, I doubt even Seven Kingdoms combined can break through that thing. Yet ever defense has a weakness…and that is the keeps like Castle Black."

At that point realization showed in Robert's gaze. "A sneak attack from behind. Take the keep and let the horde in."

"Exactly. I fear the Wildlings will try such a move. From what the Lord Commander told me they have a new King Beyond the Wall and there something is forcing them southward. They're united and desperate, a bad combination for anyone facing against them."

Baelish again spoke up. "I can see the Lord Commander is requesting for quite the tidy amount of new weapons and supplies. While in normal times it be manageable, the kingdom is currently in debt."

"Right…by how much."

The lord looked at the group, giving a sigh. "The crown is six million in debt. Three million to the Lord Tywin Lannister and the rest to the Iron Bank."

The amount had both Ned and Geralt giving wide eyed looks of shock. The Witcher had seen plenty of kingdoms build up debt, yet never heard of that much. Eddard however seemed to be angry as he'd look at Robert, who was looking away, although in frustration or shame, Geralt didn't know.

"So then…can the treasury accept these requests along with the King's tournament?' Pycelle questioned.

"Not without barrowing from the Lannisters or the Iron Bank." Baelish answered back.

No doubt Eddard wanted to demand and question Robert right there, yet the Northern Lord held his tongue for now. The Witcher felt the two have a heated argument over this news along with other matters once the meeting was over.

"Fine then…what about man power? If we can't fund the Night's Watch then just reinforce it with experienced soldiers and experts." Geralt asked.

Renly nodded in agreement. "True. Knowing the types of men we send up to the Wall, most of which lack any real skills to support the Watch."

"Yes but the question is would honest men really give up their freedoms to serve at the Wall?" Varys questioned.

"I'm not saying they should take the oath and serve, just be temporarily stationed there. As for where these men will come from…"

"The North will contribute if the King allows it." Eddard spoke up, interrupting Geralt. "The bannermen will accept the call to aid the Night's Watch since they know what will happen if the Wildlings do get pass the Wall. I only hope the rest of the Kingdoms will put some effort to the cause as well."

Robert looked at Ned with a calm yet stern glaze. "I respect that choice Lord Stark. You maybe my Hand yet you still rule the North and in turn protecting it. Make sure to send your ravens as soon as possible. Grand Maester Pycelle will also have Ravens sent to the largest Keeps to share this news and request for aid."

"Ah of course sire. I will be sure to have the letters written by tonight and the ravens sent out tomorrow." The old man murmured.

Robert nodded before speaking once more. "However there is another pressing matter…another threat to the Seven Kingdoms that we must discuss."

"Which we have." Ned mutter

"Aye we did…yet I'm here with my council I may as well speak of it now. Besides Varys was the one to inform me of this news during the ride south."

Everyone's attention looked to the chubby man who get a passive expression. "As you all know only two possible survivors of the Targaryen line remain. For years we have thought they had disappeared into hiding or silently killed off. Instead they have revealed themselves."

"Viserys and Daenerys." Geralt muttered, remembering the news Eddard had shared with him days ago. "If I'm correct the brother is only just into his twenties while his sister has just reached womanhood. Yet I take your more worried of who she has married."

The spymaster gave a small smile. "You're well informed sir Geralt." The title had the Witcher's gaze narrow in annoyance yet the chubby man continued. "Indeed. With Daenerys married to Khal Drogo, she now has an army vast enough invade the Seven Kingdoms and try reclaiming the throne."

The other council members muttered to each other, no doubt sharing their thoughts privately. Eddard seemed tense, seeming to know something everyone else didn't.

"So let me get this straight. You're worried of a sixteen year old invading with an army of shirtless horse raiders?" Geralt was focused on Robert, the large man having an intense look in his eyes. "No it's not fear…its revenge isn't it? Even with the thousands dead after the Rebellion you still want to finish what you started."

The whole table was dead silent from what the Witcher just said. Eddard and Renly had a worried look in his eyes, Varys that of surprise, Pycelle seemed to be having a silent panic attack and Baelish showed a hint of amusement. Robert seemed to fume, fists clenched tightly before relaxing. He'd give a grim grin at the Witcher, a single chuckle escaping him.

"Cunning deduction Witcher. You're right…even after all these years I still feel the same hate for the Targaryen's. After all they had done…" The man's gaze looked to Eddard for moment before back at Geralt. "…They all deserve to die for the suffering they brought. We got lax towards the end, let those two slip by and now decades later they are planning to return in vengeance."

At that point Renly spoke up. "And I agree of the threat they pose. However we have to be realistic. We don't know if this Khal Drogo will even agree to cross the Narrow Sea. In fact they'd need a massive fleet just to transport all those Dothraki and their horses." Sighing, the young noble thought for a moment. "I wish Stannis wasn't away right now. He'd understand the complications such a fleet would be and how to counter it."

"Yet there is a simple solution to this all. Target and eliminate the Targaryens." Varys calmly stated.

"You mean assassinate." Geralt muttered.

"It is the simplest solution. Two deaths to save thousands on both sides."

"And the solution I wish to follow." Robert sternly remarked. "Until both are dead the Seven Kingdoms will always have a looming threat. I may happen during my reign or that of Joffrey's…either way it will come unless dealt with."

"Then this is a matter I'd rather not hear any more." Geralt muttered as he'd turn for the door. "At the least I'm glad you listened and agreed about the trouble in the North."

"Hold it Witcher." Geralt stopped at the doorway out, glancing back at Robert who had spoken to him. "There is one aspect that you could help with. I know what you're capable of and that is reason enough to request this of you."

"Robert don't-" Eddard sharply remarked yet the King continued to speak.

"I am willing to pay for your services Witcher. You claim you kill monsters…well…the Targaryens are the worst of them all. I'll give you all the resources you need to find your daughter of yours. Lordship even if you kill them for the good of the people."

The Witcher was dead silent as he'd stare back at Robert, his gaze cold and angered hearing the man's request. "No."

"That quick to refuse?"

"You could offer me the Iron Throne and I'd still say no." The room was silent, a great tension filling the air. "I wish you good fortune on your choices your majesty. The road has been tiring for me…so excuse me." With that he'd leave the council chmaber, Robert giving a low growl at Geralt's manners toward him, making the Witcher wonder if he was going to demand him arrested for speaking out like that. Eddard gave a sigh, seeming to have expected Geralt to speak out harshly to the King, yet also having knowing Robert would make such a request as well.

…

Heading back into the throne room, Geralt slowed his pace when he noticed Jaime sitting at the steps of the Iron Throne. The dashing blond hair man was dressed in the golden armor and of the King's Guard, no doubt following his usual duties now that he was back at the Red Keep. He'd look to Geralt, giving a small smile which the Witcher didn't return.

"Judging from your look the Small Council had quite the successful meeting." Jaime remarked sarcastically.

"Not in the mood for jokes." The Witcher sternly stated.

"Heh, seems King Robert has angered you once again. Let me guess, it was the idea to hire you as an assassin for the Targaryens."

For a moment Geralt was silent, wondering how the knight knew, then remembered the man no doubt overheard plenty of things the King said while guarded him. "Maybe. What does it matter to you?"

"Are you that forgetful about history? You seem to forget my most…famous accomplishment"

Again Geralt thought, quickly realizing what Jaime meant. "Right…Kingslayer." Slowly his gaze looked around the throne room as he wondered what happened so many years ago. "So I have to wonder, what was the Mad King really like? Was it that insane or was that just slander made up during the Rebellion?"

Jaime shifted to stand, one hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword as he'd look at the Witcher. "As you have said…what does it matter?"

"I'm curious to know the truth. I've dealt with my share of kings both great, foolish and mad, so maybe you'd like to hear the opinion of an outsider for once."

For a moment Jaime was quiet, gauntleted fingers tapping on the pommel of his sword. "Fair enough. I'll tell you a tale and you tell me one of your own." Pacing around to the towering Iron Throne, he'd continue to speak. "Aerys Targayren the Second was indeed as mad as the tales say. Wasn't like that at first when Aerys took the Throne. Replaced the older members of the court with fresh young nobles and lords, all part of building a strong new era of prosperity and peace." Smirking, he'd glance back at Geralt. "My father served as his Hand at an early age and in turn that led to my family's rise to power after its rather lowly position under grandfather."

"Right…care to skip that part?"

Sighing, the blond knight shrugged. "Overall Aerys started to show the classic signs of Targaryen madness. Paranoia, insane rambles, violent bursts and a general lack of care for his appearance."

"No doubt a side effect from generations of inbreeding."

"Indeed. Point is he became quite obsessed with fire. This whole hall had pyres set up to burn his 'enemies'. Didn't matter who, if someone so much as looked at him funny he'd demand them burned."

Oddly that statement reminded Geralt of someone, although he kept silent still.

"Overall I was young and aspiring knight of the King's Guard despite all the chaos. I was reminded that my duty wasn't to judge the king yet guard him. In the end that became harder to follow. In the end you know the rest, father lies to enter and sack the city while I end the sad King's life before he could give any more mad orders."

"And that's that?"

"Well…did decide to take a sit on the Throne." Jaime nodded to the spikey seat. "I can say…not at all comfortable. Lord Stark was far from pleased finding me resting on it, even though he took seat on it afterwards."

"He has mentioned that now that I think back. Kept claiming that breaking your oath was inexcusable."

"Heh and you agree with him?" Jaime chuckled.

Yet the Witcher shook his head. "Considering what I know, I'm surprised no one else did in poor Aerys. Seems enough were that scared or that blindly loyal to him. Maybe in the end your intervention wasn't needed. Personally I'd have done the same yet far sooner."

For a moment Jaime's smug expression faltered, almost a hint of surprise showing on his face. Geralt had a feeling there was more that the knight knew, yet he didn't question the matter. "Anyway guess it's my turn. I can say the Northern Realms back home suffered under a pretty vicious king. His reign rough towards the end, having to fend off an invasion. Yet if anything the things he did made the conquest all the more appealing considering."

He'd go on for a good while detailing King Radovid's cruel reign, how he had grown to hate anyone with a sign of intelligence or relation to the occult, keeping the details of mages vague and brief. Detailing the purges and tortures that followed all who the king found as a 'threat' or nusence to his rule, Jaime couldn't help but pale a bit hearing how the man had his royal advisor's eyes scooped out with a heated metal spoon.

"So…how did his 'glorious' reign end? At the blade of his closest protector like me?" The knight questioned.

"More of a grand conspiracy between the last surviving spy masters and elite soldiers who cut a deal with the Empire. Keep their country's independence for Radovid's head. With me involved of course, organizing and recruiting the whole group."

Jaime smirked at the last bit. "So did you cut him down then? You seem the most capable."

"No…if anything Radovid nearly got away. Course he ran into his old advisor who was quick to show him the suffering she felt before putting a knife into his skull."

"Ah…" Jaime was silent, yet before he could speak there were voices coming from the Small Council chamber. It seemed their conversation had gone longer than expected.

"Anyway. Best leave for now. Rather not bother the King any further today." As he turned to leave the throne room, Jaime spoke up.

"One last question Geralt." The Witcher stopped, glancing back at the knight who had a serious look. "You never told me why you choose to help kill a king, put so much risk in such a difficult and dangerous act. What drove you to do so?"

For a moment Geralt was silent, curious at why the knight cared on such a personal detail. "Because I watched as too many innocent and friends were burned and tortured. Because in the end I wasn't going to let that bastard kill the few people I love and care for." He'd pause for a moment letting his words sink in. "You're still young Jaime. In the end there evil is evil, no matter if it is the lesser or greater. Forget the crap anyone says of breaking oaths and vows. When the right obvious choice is there…you take it."

By then there were footsteps coming from the council chambers, making Jaime glance away for a moment. When he looked back towards Geralt, the man was already leaving the large doors of the chamber. There was a puzzled look across Jaime's face, finding a strange respect to the Witcher's reasoning and point of view. "Heh…if he only knew." He muttered before hearing the Council entering the hall, making him snap out of his thoughts and focus onto his duties.

…

It wasn't hard for Geralt to find a servant who'd direct him to the guest quarters of the Red Keep. The palace was vast, often having open walkways that had breathtaking views of the Narrow Sea and the vast city below. Arriving at his room, it was by far the most lavish one he had stayed in since coming to Westeros, having a large four poster bed, finely carved furniture along with a counter of fine crystal bottles with liquor. His packs were set aside orderly for him which he'd check first, making sure now of her supplies were touched.

"I hope the accommodations are in order sir." The servant said, standing dutifully at the doorway.

"They are." Geralt muttered politely.

"Will you wish to have dinner brought up to you later? Also any special requests?"

He'd think for a moment before nodding. "I'll have dinner here. Also inviting Lord Tyrion if he has the time to visit. Besides that I'd also like the best map you have for the city since I plan to do some sightseeing."

"Of course sir." The servant bowed before hurrying out, closing the door behind him.

Now alone, Geralt sighed as he'd move towards the balcony that his room had, giving him a lovely view of city and sea. "Wish Yenn was here. She'd know who to handle this political mess." He muttered as he'd lean against the archway. He'd think over his conversation, trying to figure out what was with Jaime. From what he could guess, the knight's boasting and smugness was a cover to a degree. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter in the end so long as Jaime didn't pressure a rivalry between them. He had enough problems as it were. For now he'd take the time to sort out his packed supplies, guessing he may as well organize them since he felt he'd be staying here at the Keep for a long while.

…

By sunset, dinner had arrived along with Tyrion who was quick to chatter on about the recent news going on. The dwarf had been quick to visit his favorite brothel when they arrived, mainly to relax and catch up on rumors going around the city. Overall there was nothing too interesting or gossip that Geralt had heard already such as Daenerys reappearance and marriage. At the least the friendly chatter and fine drink helped the Witcher relax after the stressful meeting from earlier.

"So then, we need to focus on the tournament Geralt. We have only a few weeks left to prepare after all. Already knights and famous warriors are crowding to King's Landing, yet you need to be the one that stands the most. In fact there is already chatter among the common folk." Tyrion remarked after refilling his glass with wine.

"Really now? Haven't exactly done much since arriving here." Geralt remarked curiously.

"More of what you did days ago. Talk of you saving a boy from the fearsome Hound who was ordered to hunt him down for unknown reason. How you bravely swooped in without hesitation, dismounting the man while he charged." The dwarf's tone was thematic, trying to over exaggerate the tale.

"Well you knew that happened considering. Yet how did that news spread so fast?"

"They say there are two ways to get a message across Westeros. Either you do it by raven or it be on the tongues of simple folk who travel its roads. You forget, the ride from the inn and King's Landing isn't that long, the caravan just slowed us down."

"Fair point…well…guess it can't hurt having some budding reputation among the masses. At the least they don't seem to be planning for torches and pitchforks like back home."

"I'll never understand the backwards nature your land has." The dwarf sighed as he'd sip from his glass.

Geralt shrugged, gulping down his glass before setting it aside. "So any other details about the tournament?"

"Mainly just the events. There is the joust, Melee and archery."

"Sounds normal…although I don't think I'll be able to do the joust or archery. I can ride and fight mounted, yet don't know a thing about using a lance. Archery would matter on the rules, yet I doubt they'd allow a crossbow. Which leaves the Melee…so how will that one go?"

"A forty one man free for all from what I understand. Overall the rules allow for the combatants to fight with any weapons and armor allowed for the event along with being mounted. The event will be split between teams of twenty for the first round then two teams of ten for the second. The last ten remaining then begin a free for all between the."

"Quite big brawl. Hadn't fought against that many for a while…" Geralt muttered, a small smirk crossing his face. "That should be interesting."

"Twenty thousand gold dragons for the victor. A sizable prize overall…yet the real rewards will be on the bets. I can say I'm betting heavily that you will win the melee."

"You're that confident in my skills?"

Tyrion chuckled. "I believe myself a good judge of character. Besides, I think you want the prize money to support whatever plans you have or haul away back home once the matter about your adoptive daughter is settled."

Geralt was silent for the moment as the dwarf spoke, still wondering what he would do about Ciri and the true lurking threat beyond the Wall. Money could get him far, yet he doubted all the gold in the world could stop the White Frost or bend space and time. Part of him felt it be better to return North and to Castle Black, try to work with the Night's Watch however much he could and hope whatever aid the Kingdoms may send would be enough. However, he'd snap out of his thoughts when there was a knock at the door, making Geralt glance up.

"I'll get it." Tyrion quickly answered, hoping off his seat and hurrying to the door before Geralt to stop him. Standing behind the door was Eddard, who seemed to have clean himself up and changed into a fine set of dark grey clothes with the Hand of the King pin set on his vest. "Ah! Lord Stark, good to see you."

"Greets Lord Tyrion." Ned answered back politely before looking over at Geralt still sitting at the nearby table. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Nonsense! Please come in!" Tyrion invited, moving aside and returning to the table, getting an extra glass filled for the Stark.

Geralt sighed as Tyrion seemed to be deciding who got to visit him, although if anything he was pleased to see Eddard. The Northern Lord moved to an empty seat with a sigh, taking a sip from his glass as he tried to relax. "Really bothered Robert this time." He muttered.

"He shouldn't have made that offer then." Geralt grumbled as he'd take a deep drink to empty his glass.

"I know that. Early on the journey south he told me the news about Daenerys and the marriage she had, I was strongly against trying to assassinate her. The idea to have you do it made it even worse in my eyes."

"I'm curious why you're against it. If anything the Targaryens have done the most harm to your family personally by killing your father, brother and sister."

Ned didn't answer at first, fingers lightly tapping the table in thought. "You are right…Aerys Targaryen burned my father alive and had my brother strangled trying to save him. I hate him for that, not his daughter who wasn't even born yet." He muttered in a low serious manner.

"And your sister?"

"That is different."

"Considering what I read and the rumors I've heard…I can understand that."

Ned glanced up at Geralt curiously. "The whole story of her kidnapping? Heh…Robert was the one who believed that she was kidnapped, yet many others felt otherwise."

"Indeed." Tyrion sighed, suddenly stepping into the conversation. The two men had almost forgotten about the dwarf. "Rhaegar, grandest knight and perfect heir to the throne. He was the shining knight every maiden longed for. To think that he'd break such chivalry to do the things the King yammers about…it was against all reason."

"Tyrion, I think the drink is making you say things." Geralt chuckled.

"Let me finish! I know the story of how Rhaegar during the last tourney he was in favored the fair Lyanna Stark. How the tales go…romance and scandal it was. In the end many felt the two were love struck and in secret hurried away one-"

"Lord Tyrion." Ned's voice was low and cold. "I would ask you stop…and that you retire for the night." The look Eddard had seemed to snap the dwarf to his senses, having not seen the Stark look so intense before.

"My…apologies Lord Stark. Seems the wine did loosen my tongue. I meant no disrespect." Tyrion muttered. "Rest do us all well I think. Months on the road after all." Snatching the half empty wine bottle and his glass, he'd hurry for the door out. "Until next time gentlemen!" And he was gone, kicking the door behind him as he left the room.

Eddard relaxed once the Lannister was gone, sighing as he'd sip from his glass again. "He is right though. I remember the look she and the prince had back then. Love at first sight." He'd smirk a bit. "Robert was fuming. I never understood why drove him to feel such affection for my sister…"

"Love affected others in strange ways. I know the feeling well enough." Geralt remarked.

Ned nodded in agreement. "Yet Robert didn't understand my sister. He was too lost in her beauty to know who she really was. Under her fair looks she had an iron will like a wolf, a fierce independence like Arya." He'd sigh. "I wonder if she would have set Robert straight, chain up his urges and hone him into a decent man. Maybe he'd simply slip back into habit…" Eddard finished his cup, sliding it aside.

"So what killed her then?"

Ned glanced up at Geralt, dead silent.

"Every story varies. Most of them don't detail what happened…yet I know you were the one to find her in the end."

"That is a private matter Geralt. I trust you and have shared much about my sister…more than most."

"Then I won't press further." The Witcher finished his glass as well, sighing as he set it aside. "All I can say is I'm sorry for you…and your family. No doubt you're heard that a hundred times over the years…yet I feel it's worth saying."

Eddard nodded, glancing out at the open balcony and to the clear night sky. "Thank you then Geralt." For a long moment neither spoke, giving them both time to clear their thoughts on the touchy matter.

"Now then. What happens now? Your wife could be arriving any day now and she'll be quick to draw attention."

"I know. I've already notified the guards to watch the gates and docks." Ned muttered. "Hopefully I can speak some reason to her, plea with her to return home and care for Brann now that he has awaken."

"A good idea. Yet what about the investigation about Bran's assassin?"

"As you said the dagger is the key to linking this all together. Once we have the weapon we will need track down its history and ownership."

"Right…which will be my job. Be kind of hard for you to focus on your duties as Hand and discretely investigate. Know any good weapon smiths or historians who can help us." At this point, he'd pull up the map of King's Landing while Ned thought for a moment.

"I have some ideas." Pulling the map closer, he'd study it before pointing out some key streets and locations. "The Street of Steel is one of the oldest and most renowned section of the crafters district. Look for a man named Tobho Mott, he's a master smith who is said to be one of the few men among the Kingdoms to know the smiting of Valyrian steel." His attention then shifted to the docks. "Blackwater gets plenty of traffic from traders and merchants. Someone may know of the weapon or perhaps about the assassin himself if he traveled by ship somehow."

"Anywhere else?"

"There…is the Street of Silks. Brothels and luxury houses fill that part, yet many exotic deals are made around there. Lord Baelish has a…side business running one of the more lavish brothels."

"Heh, so the Master of Coin spends his wealth on a colorful industry. You're not saying we should ask for his help are you?"

"We have few allies around and I know Littlefinger does care for Cat…even if his interest is bothersome."

"Wait…did you just call him Littlefinger?" Geralt chuckled.

"It was a nickname he received over the years considering he is a minor lord of such an unremarkable region. Think of it as more of a…street name in public circles."

"Right." Looking over the map, his attention fell to the slums. "What about Flea Bottom?"

"The slums? That is an odd choice to good looking for leads." Ned questioned. "Nothing but the poor and criminal live in those cramped streets."

"You'd be surprised what such circles can know. I'll admit I've dealt with criminal groups before and they often have connections that are well spread out. Besides that, the common folk can be a useful ally in the end."

"If you think that is best. I'll trust your experience on the matter."

Geralt took the map back and rolled it up once more. "So what else was decided during the meeting after I left?"

"Well…Robert is set on having the tournament in honor of me. I tried to argue the matter yet he wouldn't let it be, claimed the people needed some festivities to up their moods and to introduce me to the masses."

"And what about Daenerys?"

"Currently I'm against taking any action against her right now. Unless there is a showing sign of an invasion, I won't condone the assassination of a banished girl. Yet I feel Varys already has made plans."

"Nothing we can do on that. Let's just hope it doesn't become any more complicated."

Nodding, Ned shifted to stand up with a sigh. "Anyway, I'd taken enough of your time tonight Geralt. I recommend that you rest in for a while and decide on what to do over the coming weeks." Moving for the door out, he'd stop to continue speaking. "Just watch yourself. Everything we do in the Keep will be noted…and try to avoid angering Robert any further."

"I'll try to avoid that. Rest well Lord Stark."

The Northern Lord left the room, leaving Geralt to himself at last. Getting out of his seat, he'd move over to the large bed and flop down with a tired groan. "Guh…feels like Novigrad all over again." He muttered. "Question is…who will end up dying in the end?" It was a grim thought, yet deep down his gut feeling told him this investigation wasn't going to end well. He put the negative feelings behind as he'd pull up the silken sheets, slipping off to sleep

 **Notice: So the intrigue truly begins! Have a lot of stuff planned for the next few chapters, think of it similar to the Winterfell three parter. I have plans for some favorite characters being involved that will no doubt be fitting for the story.**


	15. S1-E14: City of Kings Part 2

**Chapter 14: City of Kings Part 2**

…

The mix of knocking at his door and the bright sunlight peeking through the curtains would awaken Geralt, who'd mutter a bit to himself as he'd shift to sit up in bed. "Damn…first time I've overslept." Indeed it had been ages since he had such a comfortable bed, especially after the month of traveling he had done across the Kingdoms. Getting out of bed, he'd head for the door and peek outside to see that it was the male servant from before.

"Good morning sir Geralt." The young man said formally. "I hope I didn't disrupt your rest."

Geralt shook his head. "Not at all, if anything I needed a wakeup call."

"Do you wish for breakfast or require anything for the day?"

Thinking for a moment, he'd nod in response. "Breakfast sounds nice."

"As you wish sir." The servant bowed and hurried off, while Geralt closed the door shut. By now he realized he should secure his room better while he was away. While he wasn't sure if someone would try to spy on him, he didn't want a maid cleaning his room to discover his stash of potions and take a curious sip. Even the less potent mixtures could cripple someone for life if not kill them outright. He'd use the large storage chest set in one corner of the room, a sturdy container with plenty of space. For a good fifteen minutes he'd work on carefully storing his potions and bombs along with the more dangerous and valuable crafting materials he had. By the time he finished, there be a knock at the door and soon the servant entered with a covered platter.

"Here you are sir." The young man set both platter and package on the table before returning to the door. "Anything else."

"Nothing more." Geralt answered back thankfully.

The servant nodded before leaving, letting the Witcher finish packing in peace. Lastly he'd put away half of money into the chest along with his silver blade, feeling it would be unneeded in the city and draw too much attention since it was made of silver. From what he knew, the poor of the city were quite desperate in some places and openly showing wealth could draw trouble, not that he couldn't handle it.

With his valuables locked up, he'd change into a fresh set of clothes for the day, similar to the garb he had changed into since arriving to the warmer southern regions. He'd wear this Stark bracer along with his sturdy Witcher boots along with steel sword in case of any danger out in the city. Fully dressed, his attention focused on the hearty meal on the table, which he took his time eating while studying the city map, planning out his route for the day.

"The smith Eddard mentioned should be a good start. Maybe see if he can do some minor repairs even." He muttered to himself as he finished eating before leaving his room and beginning his trek through the Red Keep. Without a servant, it was a bit tricky to figure his way around, yet he'd find his way to the main court yard and head out the main gates without any issue.

Taking the road down into the main city, the usual bustle soon surrounded him as he'd make his way to the main square before the Grand Sept. It was strange seeing so many people about, the streets far more crowded then even the largest cities back home. Then again such places were struggling from war and conflict last he visited. Moving along, he did get some lingering stares, no doubt from his scars and pale features yet no one lashed out with insults or threats like he was used to. It was odd really, but welcoming in this case.

He'd heard back towards the crafters district, retracing the route the royal caravan had taken before arriving to a side street with an impressive sign naming it 'Street of Steel'. Heading down, the air soon had the think smell of copper, smoke and oil as he passed through a mix of workshops and blacksmith shops. The simpler and cheaper businesses started at the lower half of the street, while the more fancy and expensive were farther back towards the higher slope of the hill the street was built on. He took his time strolling along casually examining the different weapons and armor on display.

"Solid plate! Stop any arrow without a dent!"

"Short swords! Long swords! Heck we even have curved swords from Essos!"

Geralt attention did stop at the sword seller, curious to see what weapons Essos had to offer. The merchant had a stand set before his store, having all sorts of exotic blades. His interest was quick to fall onto a Dothraki arakh which seemed like a mix of a sword and scythe with its curved shape. "Interesting design." He muttered.

"Ah a fine eye sir. Dothraki maybe savages yet they have created an impressive weapon for mounted combat." The merchant remarked.

Picking up the weapon, Geralt weighted in his grasp and gave a slow testing swing to get an idea of how the weapon arc was compared to other blades. "Can see why it's favored on horseback. Perfect for cutting down targets on foot or countering other mounted riders…unless they have spears and lances."

"A keen point sir. Dothraki often fight between each other, the simple villages they raid or the rare war with a Free City at least from what I heard."

"Still, weapon like this be useful against armor, especially steel plating." He'd put the weapon down.

"Such specialized weapons have such flaws. Still if it interests you…"

"Perhaps another time." Waving by, he'd continue on his way while the merchant grumbled in annoyance.

Soon he was reaching the end of the street and at last arrived at the largest building on the whole street. It didn't look like a shop, more of a multistoried house if anything. The entrance was a masterpiece for sure, the door being made of carved weirwood depicting a hunting scene with pieces of ebony detailing and reinforcing the overall door. Beside the doors were two stone knights which at a glance seemed almost life like. Pushing the heavy doors opened, he'd enter the shop itself which was even more breath taking. All around were stands and racks full of the finest weapons and armor the Witcher had seen. Already he was pacing slowly around the main room, closely examining each item as he moved along.

"Damn…some of these crafts outmatch even Hattori's work." Geralt muttered, thinking back to the elven weaponsmith who had crafted his Witcher blades.

"Interested I see?" A male voice spoke up, making Geralt glance to the side to see a gray bearded man dressed in a black velvet coat with fine silver hammers embroidered on the cuffs. Around his neck was a large sapphire set on a heavy chain necklace. With the man nearing him, Geralt felt his medallion vibrate lightly, making him quite curious now.

"Indeed. Your reputation is well received considering." Geralt answered back, offering one hand out for the man to shake firmly.

"Thank you. Tobho Mott at your service. I pride myself on my work, yet just as much credit goes to my workers and apprentices." For a moment the man looked closely at Geralt's face, a curious hint showing when he noticed the Witcher's cat like eyes. However he didn't remark about them or the man's pale features for some reason.

"Quite humble to say such a thing."

"It's a life lesson I learned. Share credit where it is properly due. The lack of such respect was a key reason why I left Qohar so long ago."

"Qohar? Sounds like a Free City to me."

"You'd be right. The City of Sorcerers it is often called, considering the study on the mystical arts and knowledge. You can say my skills are unique to anyone you'll find in all the Seven Kingdoms."

The mention of magic had the Witcher give a curious look. "I take you use with mystic knowledge for your crafting?"

"Heh, that is a trade secret my friend." Mott said with a small sly smile. "Yet I'm sure you didn't come to chatter. No doubt you're here on business."

Geralt nodded. "Indeed." He'd shift his sheathed sword off his back, nodding to the nearby counter which he set it down. "Wanted to have my blade inspected. Been maintaining it well enough, yet prefer an expert's examination."

Mott nodded as he'd look over the fine leather sheath, gaze examining the hilt and cross-guard before drawing the blade. The man's eyes widened as he stared over the fine steel blade, being careful to set it down as if it was a priceless painting. "By the Black Goat…how did you come have such a weapon?" He muttered as he'd quickly have a pair of black gloves taken from his coat, putting them on as he'd begin to trace his fingers over the blades edges and flat. "The metal purity is unlike most blades I've seen." Picking it up again, he'd weight it in both hands. "Very light. It is like Valyrian steel in nearly all aspects."

However as he traced over the blade flat, he'd notice the faint runes just fused into the blade. "Runes? Curious…symbolic or…" He'd mutter something under his breath, making Geralt's medallion shake lightly for a moment as the man seemed to be doing some incantation. Nothing noticeable happened even with the Witcher's sharp gaze watching the man closely. Mott finished his examination, glancing at Geralt with an intense look. "Tell me. Who are you and where did you get this sword."

"It's a long story good sir." Geralt started yet Hott clapped his hands sharply.

Quickly a slim servant girl hurried out from a side room and courtesy to the both. "Prepare the sitting room for us. Brandy and spiced bread." The smith calmly stated.

The girl nodded and hurried off without a word before Hott looked back at the Witcher. "Please, follow me sir…?"

"Geralt. Geralt of Rivia." He'd sheath his sword and carry it along as Hott led him into parlor study. His sharp eyes looked over a few books, finding them quite curious since the topics seemed to involve more magical topics and lore.

"Geralt…can't say I've heard of Rivia though." Mott muttered as he'd sit in an armchair. "All I can say is that you're the most unique guest I've had in a long time." At this point Geralt sat down across from him, setting his sword beside his chair as he'd relaxed back. "How does a cat-eyed man come to own a blade that is so similar to Dawn?"

The Witcher recognized the name Dawn to be the legendary sword of Arthur Dayne, a great sword forged from a fallen star the House had discovered. "Because I had it forged that way. Meteorite ore infused with rare metals. Not sure if this land even has such ores remaining, yet overall this blade is made for Witchers."

"Sounds like a name for a guild…a strange one at that." Mott muttered noting Geralt's wolf medallion. By then the servant girl returned with drinks and fresh bread for the two, setting it down at the table before leaving without a word. "I would like to know more Geralt. You're not like any knight or warrior I've met before…"

For a moment the Witcher didn't answer as he'd glance to the brandy, picking the bottle up and filling both cups. "Not sure if I should tell you. Sort of a personal story." He muttered.

"Then on my honor as a master smith and under the dark gaze of the Black Goat, I swear to guard whatever secrets you share with me. None will hear a word beyond this room." The man said in a calm serious tone, hand raise and fingers set in a gesture of some kind.

Geralt wasn't sure if the man truly had magic about him. At best his power was on a basic level to what he knew, yet it no doubt gave the man an edge with his work. "Very well then…" Picking up his cup, he'd take a drink and give a small sigh downing the strong liquor. "So it lets get to the point. I'm not from here…from this world I mean…"

…

The day went by quickly as Geralt and Mott chatted, the Witcher detailing his full story and history of his kind. The master smith was quiet and respectful, only speaking when he had a simple question ask. He showed no doubt even on the most fantastical elements such as monsters and magic. Perhaps the man did believe in such things, considering the city he had been raised in.

"Amazing…I remembered some lectures back home in Qohor. Theories on worlds beyond the stars." The smith muttered as he set his cup down. "You tale explains everything. Why your sword is made of such exotic and strong material along with the runes strengthening it to an even greater degree." Sighing, he'd lean back in his seat. "Ah I'd trade everything just to see this world of yours and learn its crafting secrets."

"Heh willing to trade that much for knowledge?" Geralt chuckled as he finished his drink.

"In Qohor, sacrifice is everything there. Equivalent exchange if you will."

"Huh…remember some young alchemist back home saying something like that. Can't remember who though." Geralt shrugged. "Sad to say there isn't any boat back home. Still I may have an alternative means to getting what you seek."

"Oh? A trade?"

Geralt nodded. "I have blueprints. Armor and weapons that only a master like yourself can make. I even have materials from home. Meteorite ore, dark steel and dimeritium."

"Quite the offer, yet what would you want in return?"

"You're crafting skills and expertise on a certain matter. My gear maybe good yet they can do with some improvements. I'm taking part in the upcoming tournament and I'm going to need every edge I can get going against full armored knights."

"And the certain matter you mentioned?

"I'm doing an investigation for the Lord Eddard Stark. It's a private matter, yet it involves tracing down the owner of a certain weapon. A Valyrian steel dagger with a dragon bone hilt."

Mott thought for a moment over the description. "That is quite a unique weapons. Valyrian steel weapons are very one of a kind and often related to family Houses or rich individuals. In Essos many treasure hunters brave the ruins of the old empire for lost weapons. Weapons like Ice of House Stark were gifted to the family for showing loyalty to the old Targaryen rulers."

"So that means most weapons can be traced back by their unique design?"

"Exactly. Valyrian steel can be reforged yet it's a complicated process to ensure the metal keeps its unbreakable strength and strong edge. Lucky I'm one of few known individuals on the continent with such skills. I think only a handful of Maesters who have dedicated to the mystic studies and forging can do the process."

"Very interesting. Anyway I'll be sure to have you examine the dagger once it's delivered to me. Besides that I'd like to have my armor and swords worked on."

"As long as you share those blueprints and materials that sounds fair to me. If anything special comes up though I'm sure we can negotiate on any additional costs."

The two firmly shook hands to seal the deal before they'd get out of their seats. "Anyway it has been nice talking with you Mott. I'll be sure to return tomorrow."

"It's been a pleasure Geralt. Until next time."

The master smith escorted the Witcher out of his lavish store and home. Once the heavy doors were closed and locked behind him, Geralt began to long walk back down the Street of Steel. Half the day had just past by chatting with Mott yet he felt he had gained a useful ally. Rubbing one hand over his chin, he'd realize that his beard had grown out quite a lot. He had ignored it because of how long he had been traveling for so long, no doubt giving him a fitting Northerner look.

"Guess a trim is needed if I plan to stay at the Keep." He muttered as he moved along. His next destination was the Street of Silk, guessing it may be a good chance to privately chat with Lord Baelish if he was at his brothel. At the least he planned to visit a barber that he heard had a shop set up on that street, no doubt for customers wanting to look presentable at the many businesses of pleasure. He'd head back to the main city square before the Great Sept then head northward up the Street of Sisters, a long stretch of road which lead between the massive chapel and the ruined Dragon Pit.

Heading towards the ruin, the surroundings had a more lavish quality as the area around the western side of the Dragon Pit hill. From his understand this was the noble district where the richer merchants and nobility lived in. Some homes were built along the hillside, old yet maintained structures that no doubt traced back to King's Landing founding. Yet on the other side of the hill laid the opposite, the packed and dirty slums of Flea Bottom. Because of the hill's shape, all the waste and trash from the west side ended up on the east which was the main reason for the slum's sorry state.

A short search soon led to him finding a barbershop, a small yet welcoming establishment fitting for the district. The owner was an older gentlemen who gave a curious look to Geralt, no doubt because of the pale hair and yellow cat eyes. "My…either my sight is failing me today or you have cat eyes." The man chuckled.

"It isn't. Had these for most of my life after an umm…alchemy experiment." Geralt calmly stated as he'd enter the shop which little more than a small room with a comfortable chair facing a mirror with counter close-by with razors and scissors set across it.

"No doubt an interesting tale, yet one I won't pry into. Overall you seem normal enough to me…ah…eyes and pale features aside." The man pulled the chair back before the mirror. "Though I take you're here for a trim. I can tell you no doubt been traveling for a while and need a little sprucing up."

Geralt nodded as he'd unsling his sword off his back and set it beside the chair before sitting down. "You guessed right. Have an important meeting with one Lord Baelish."

"Ah, the Master of Coin. A charming fellow, always come here to get his hair styled." The barber remarked as he'd get case of shaving cream from a sealed bowl, rubbing it along Geralt bearded chin and cheeks. "I can say my business draws quite the unique costumers. Even have King Robert visit a few times in the early days of his reign."

"Wait you've had the King visit you?" Geralt remarked in surprise as the man got one of the shaving razors.

"I guess my skills are just that good. He's was a good patron, although the Gold Cloaks always breathing down my neck while I work." The barber chuckled as he began to drag the sharp blade along the Witcher's chin. Geralt did tense slightly since when it came to shaving, he always felt a bit vulnerable having a blade so close to his neck. "I worked my way from Flea Bottom, worked for coppers back then. Took a decade to save enough along with a war to…uh…free up business."

"Quite the good fortune you've had then."

"Thank you." The barber be silent for a while as he'd focus on his work, having Geralt's beard halfway shaved.

"So I take you know a lot about your more renown patrons. Maybe you can share a little insight about Lord Baelish."

"Not much to say really. A youthful man full of ambition. I can relate to him well considering how he's risen from a lowly rank to a high member of Small Council." The barber muttered. "Never met a man more cunning when it comes to finance and coin."

"Sounds like quite the business man."

"Indeed. Some of the nobility do look down on him still. Unfair I say." Getting a clean towel, he'd wipe Geralt's face clean of any remaining shaving cream. Once, the Witcher would examine himself in the mirror, rubbing across his smooth face before giving a small nod of approval.

"Smooth shave. Very good."

"Thank you." Setting the razor aside, he'd get a set scissors out before snipping at Geralt's white hair.

"So any advice with dealing with him?"

"If you want his help you'd best make an offer. Man is fair yet he never does anything without wanting something in return." The haircut didn't take too long to finish as the man got a brush to sweep Geralt's shoulders clean of any stray hair.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the cut." Getting out of the seat, Geralt quickly paid the man, adding a little extra as a tip for his advice.

"Seven have fortune for you sir." The barber said with a smile before the Witcher left, before then focusing on cleaning the floor of hair.

Geralt continued on has way, having only to travel a bit further until he'd at last reach the high end brothel. The building reminded him of place Dandelion had inherited, although the bard had of course changed the establishment into theater tavern. Baelish's brothel was at least twice as big and lavishly decorated to give it almost a royal appeal to its guests. The lobby had a mix of seats and lodging couches set around for waiting patrons while at the far end of the room there was small counter where a middle aged woman, no doubt the mistress, stood by. She wore a fine corset and long skirt, practical for her managing work, yet appealing to the eyes. Her attention was quickly set on Geralt who she'd give a charming smile.

"Greets white haired one. Lord Baelish has been expecting you." She said in a cheery manner.

"Really? I was really here for an informal meeting." Geralt asked.

"The master always pays attention to what happens here in King's Landing. He knew you'd visit sooner than later." The woman moved around the counter and nodded to a hallway off to the side. "If you'll come this way sir."

Geralt followed along deeper into the brothel, his sharp ears catching muffled moans, pants and giggles becoming for the private rooms set along the hallway. Soon they'd arrive at the main lounging area were the girls and visiting paying patrons could relax in. There was one man chatting with a girl on his lap in one corner, yet overall the ladies were talking among each other or laying around in very…suggestive ways. In fact most of them were in varying states of dress and undress, from young and slim to mature and curvy. Plenty of curious sly gazes settled on him, inviting looks hinting in their eyes as he passed along. He did glance over a few of the whores, yet he'd focus on following the mistress along down another hallway. Arriving at the door to another room, the mistress knocked at the door before a male voice spoke out.

"Come in."

The mistress opened the door for Geralt, letting him step into a fancy study. Littlefinger was sitting behind a desk, shifting through letters and documents, no doubt relating to his businesses or finances of the Kingdoms. The noble was dressed more casually though no less fancy, wearing a dark silver colored robe with a light grey vest and fine dark leather pants. The man had a calculating look in his eyes as he'd glance up at the Witcher, before giving a small welcoming smile.

"Welcome Geralt. I hope your tour of the city has gone well so far."

The Witcher nodded as he moved closer to the desk, resting one hand on one of the chairs set on his side. "Well enough. Been to plenty of cities and capitals over the years, yet King's Landing is quite different."

"Oh? And what makes it so different."

Geralt shrugged. "Has the makings to match up to capital of Nilfgaard, the largest empire where I come from. Yet here…there is an obvious divide."

"A divide you say?"

"It's in every city although here it stands out. I'll admit I won't know fully until I see Flea Bottom. Here though you see the glamor of the rich and noble, yet behind it all is the poor and lowly that brace it all up."

Littlefinger nodded slightly. "It is the fact of life Witcher. The strong step over the weak, yet in turn the strong shield the weak from those that wish harm onto them."

"Right…because all wars waged have for the good of the common man." The Witcher's voice having his signature dry sarcasm to it.

"I'm not one to seek war Geralt. Men like King Robert are the ones who crave it and care not for who lies in their path." The nobleman calmly remarked. "The battles I face are through the exchange of coin and the art of words."

"A poetic way to describe your line of work."

"Yet a fitting one don't you agree?" Littlefinger chuckled. "However I doubt you came here for enlightening chatter. I know you're here on more important matters relating to the Starks." He'd gestured to the chair Geralt was near although the Witcher shook his head.

"Think I'll stand. Been sitting around long enough today."

"As you wish"

Geralt paced a bit around the office study, casually glancing over a few of the books on Lord Baelish's shelves. "Point is your right. I'm helping Lord Stark on a personal matter relating to his second youngest son."

"Yes…Bran Stark. I had heard of the news of his tragic accident and crippling. From what Eddard shared, the boy as at least awaken."

Geralt was surprised Eddard had search such details, yet didn't question Baleish on the matter. "It is, yet I can tell you his fall wasn't an accident. That is one main reason why I've come to King's Landing."

For a moment Littlefinger was silent, one hand lightly brushing over his short well-trimmed beard. "Interesting. That is troubling to hear yet…" A hint of realization showed in his eyes followed by a sly gleam. "It was someone from the royal family wasn't it? It is the only explanation why you'd rush so quickly from the North and to the capital."

Geralt remained silent, impressed that Petyr was so quick to make that deduction. The nobleman knew his answer was correct as he'd move to stand up from his seat.

"You know well who really has the power here in the capital. Robert may act as if he's the unshakable ruler of the land, yet the Lannister's are the ones pulling the strings. Cersei manipulates through the courts as her role as queen while her father Tywin dangles the purse strings over our heads. In time Jaime will no doubt raise to the rank of commander of the King's Guard, furthering their hold. One day Joffrey with Sansa no doubt married as his queen, thus sealing a great dynasty for House Lannister. Overall a flawless take over."

For a moment Geralt didn't answer, thinking over the facts Littlefinger detailed. "It is a cunning plan. No doubt of Lord Tywin's doing. From what I've heard the man is quite the political and military tactician."

"Indeed. I've met the man only a few times yet he takes pride in his family's rise to success."

"Yet in the end you're the one who has been barrowing from him constantly." Geralt quickly added.

Petyr chuckled a bit nervously. "You must understand Geralt. King Robert isn't a man you argue with when it comes to his damns. As I said during the meeting, my duty is to procure the money and use it how the King wishes."

"Even if it weighs down on the country?"

"Geralt, if I refused the King, he'd simply dismiss me and replace with me someone more agreeable. While you may disagree on how I fund the King's…requests, I do my best to soften each loan taken."

"Right…" The Witcher seemed disbelieving with that answer yet didn't press it. "Anyway politics aside, I still plan to find the truth in the end. How I will handle it from there is another matter."

For a moment Littlefinger was silent in thought before nodding. "You play a risky game yet in the end I can tell you're a level headed man, no one to let emotions overcome reason. At the least I'll gladly help, yet this is for Lady Catelyn's sake mainly. I care for her dearly and to know she faced such sorrow pains me deeply."

Geralt felt Baelish was being dramatic with his reasons, yet the way he spoke of Catelyn was indeed quite affectionate. He remember how the man spoke about the woman, seeming to have tried to win her hand in marriage yet failed to do so, having lost a duel from what he knew was Eddard's dead older brother. Obviously despite the brother's death, Eddard took his place in wedding Lady Catelyn.

"So then what can you do to help? I take you have plenty of connections throughout King's Landing."

"More than that. I have eyes and ears across the many other regions and even Essos. Only Varys has a stronger web of agents then I do."

Geralt crossed his arms, giving an odd look to the man. "Strange that the King financer has such a network of spies."

"I must be quickly informed about what happens around the Kingdoms. If anything I am sharing quite the personal information on how I work to you Witcher."

"Fair enough…" The Witcher muttered with a shrug. "I guess I should explain more about what happened in Winterfell. Thing is lady Catelyn is coming here to the capital and she must be brought in for questioning as quickly as possible."

A curious look hinted Littlefinger's eyes, seeming to have not known of this news. "Really now? What would drive her to travel so far south then?"

Geralt sighed as he'd pace to the nearby chair, tugging it out before sitting down. "Best you sit down Lord Baelish. A bit of a tale on this one matter."

…

At least an hour passed as Geralt explained the full story about attempted assassination on Bran and how Catelyn nearly died defending him. The news of her being hurt troubled Petyr, yet he remained focused as the Witcher told the man how she was quickly arriving by boat, possibly reaching the city within the week. When he got into the details of the attack, Littlefinger showed a curious interest at the mention of the Valyrian steel dagger that had been used.

"That weapon. It sounds familiar. Does it have a dragon bone hilt as well?"

Geralt had not mentioned that detail yet, drawing a hint of surprise from him. "That is correct yet how…"

"Because it use to be mine." The nobleman calmly explained. "Most houses own grand valyrian swords yet my simple family we had little more than that dagger. It is the finest of its kind yet meant more for appearance then battle."

"So then how did you lose it? Dagger or not a valyrian weapon is a valuable piece."

"Heh indeed and the tale is a bit embarrassing really. All my life I've taken risks and while I often have success I also have my failures. A month before the royal family left for the North there was a tourney for Joffrey's name day. It was quite the exciting event as the joust led to a great clash between the Jaime Lannister and the young yet talented Loras Tyrell."

"Let me guess…you betted the weapon?"

"Indeed. I betted the weapon for quite the tidy fortune that Tyrion Lannister offered up. I betted on Jaime winning while Lord Tyrion betted against him. Despite man's skill, Loras is a master when it comes to the lance yet it was a close match."

For a moment Geralt thought over this information, finding some of it odd from his point of view. He had after all stayed with Tyrion for months and knew the dwarf well. The man looked up to his brother and deeply understood his skills, which made it odd for Tyrion to suddenly doubt them during a bet. "So you lost the dagger to Tyrion. Strange then that it is missing from his ownership."

"Left in the Red Keep leaves it open to being stolen or perhaps he gifted it to someone else." Littlefinger suggested. "Sadly my knowledge of the dagger ends there yet I can suggest some leads. Varys be your best choice to learn of anything odd going about the Keep. Nothing rarely escapes that man's knowledge."

"Guess I'll have to plan a visit with the good Master of Whispers then." Already Geralt moved to get out of his seat yet continued to speak. "One other thing. If you get word of Lady Catelyn entering or roaming the city, I'd like it if you escort her here and inform Lord Stark."

"Of course. Overall I wish you the best of luck in your search Witcher." He'd stand up, one hand out to be shook yet Geralt didn't take the offer. He just had a gut feeling, a natural distrust of the man.

"Thank you for your support. Until next time Lord Baelish." With that he'd leave the study, yet just as he closed the door he swore the man had a sly smirk on his face, yet for what he wasn't sure. He'd retrace his steps through the brothel, getting a few teasing offers as he passed through the sitting room yet ignoring the alluring girls. Leaving out the lobby, he'd only give a short wave to the mistress who said a quick goodbye, before heading out to the main street.

By now the sun was setting low, casting a yellow light across the tan colored buildings. He'd make his way back southward towards the main square before the Sept, deciding to head back to the Red Keep. From a distance he'd get quite the view as the setting sun cast a beautiful light across the red stone structure. The walk to the keep was uneventful yet nearing the gates he'd see the guards were speaking with a short curly haired fellow, who seemed to be arguing with. The man was dressed in deep green coat and tanned vest along with fine leather pants and boots. At his belt he had a sheathed thin blade that reminded Geralt of Arya's gifted sword, although this one was double in size. The man's overall look reminded him of a duelist, especially with the way he stood, relaxed yet on guard as if to spring forward at a moment's notice.

"I'm sorry sir but we're under orders to not let you in."

"Surely this is a mistake good sir. King Robert himself said I was free to visit whenever I wished." The man remarked, his voice having a quite foreign accent to it. "Syrio's, First Blade of Brovos has long a friend of the court. Please tell the King of my arrival and surely you will see I am welcomed."

"We can't follow such a demand sir." The guard started before noticing Geralt approaching. "Please sir, we have others waiting entry. Sir Geralt is a very important guest who-"

Hearing the name, the curly haired man seemed to snap to attention and turned about quickly. "Geralt…THE Geralt?" He asked curiously. The man had a sharp and inquisitive look in his eyes as he gazed at the Witcher.

"Let me guess you've heard of me? Slayer of a dozen Wildlings and challenger of the Hound?" Geralt quickly asked.

The man gave a wide grin. "Sharp aren't you. Indeed rumor travels fast. I thought this country would lack any more interesting yet then I hear of you." He'd brush his lightly bearded face, nodding his head. "Yes you have an experienced look. Yet I wonder how does one like you do the dance…much less with a sword like that?"

At this point one of the guards interrupted. "Excuse me. We do need to lock the gates for the night."

Geralt and Syrio's was silent, yet in the end the Witcher spoke up. "Then let us in. I'll take responsibility of Syrio's as my guest."

For a moment the guard seemed ready to argue yet he'd sigh and nodded. "Very well sir." He and the guard gave an order as the men behind the gates raised the portcullis up for them. The guards escorting Geralt and Syrio's towards the keep before moving onto the barricks, no doubt to rest the night away.

"Many thanks friend. It's troubling that this…misunderstanding happened."

"Any idea who tried to keep you out?"

"A few. The bald eunuch perhaps who thinks me a spy from Essos or maybe the golden haired queen who sees me as troublesome around her husband." The man shrugged. "Maybe the good King did simply forget to warn the guards."

"Heh…perhaps. So is it true you're a guest here." By now the two were walking through the main hall, heading towards the living quarters for the guests. "You mentioned Bravos which I know is in Essos."

"That be correct. I've come here to see more of the world beyond Free Cities. King's Landing is a more…rough capital for sure yet the Seven Kingdoms have been wondrous to explore. King Robert took notice of me during one of his smaller tourneys when I showed the Water Dance against one of his knights. Ever since I've always been welcomed here at the Red Keep.

"Water Dance?"

"It is the fighting style of my city. It requires speed, grace and balance to master this style of fencing."

"Fencing huh. My master was renowned for his dueling skill and taught me everything there was to his style."

"Oh? Very interesting." Geralt saw the familiar look in the man's eyes, the exciting look of a challenge. "Perhaps a sparring match one day yes?"

The Witcher nodded. "Perhaps. Have a lot of work to do."

"Whenever you feel free Geralt. A wise warrior never rushes into a fight he doesn't seek." The man chuckled before he'd move aside down one hallway. "Until next time!"

Watching the man stroll off down the dimly lit corridor, Geralt tensed as his sharp ears heard someone shifting behind in from another hallway. By reflex one hand shifted to the sword on his back, yet a soft voice had him stop.

"Relax Witcher. I'm not some assassin if that is what worries you." The smooth voice of Varys reassured as the chubby spy master slipped out of the shadows. Geralt had to admit the man was very sneaky despite his appearance. It made sense why he had the nickname the Spider.

"Habit. Blame it on bad past experience." Geralt muttered back.

"Interested. You'll have to share the details on that matter."

"Doubtful."

The blunt answer didn't make the spymaster's smile falter as he'd step more into the light. "You've been quite busy today. I know you spent plenty of time exploring our fair city yet did pay quite the visit to one of Littlefinger's…establishments."

"Personal business."

"Pleasure or…"

"Personal." Geralt repeated, a more cold annoyed tone to his voice.

"Touchy now. No need to be defensive Witcher, I know you were there seeking Lord Baelish help. He is a resourceful man, yet not one you should be quick to trust." Varys said with a small sigh.

"And I'm to believe you're more trusting?"

"Simply yes. My interests are far less self-serving then Petyr. I care simply of the stability of Kingdoms and the wellbeing of the people."

Geralt was silent for a moment. "You'll have to excuse me if I'm doubtful on that claim. I've met a dozen men who've said the same thing."

"Which is one reason why I see you worth my time." Varys stepped closer, a quite serious look in his eyes. "I don't know what you are hiding yet I know very well that wherever you came from is either far beyond anyone's scope or you've proven to be a capable liar. Either way you're an outsider with a wide and unique set of skills yet a seemingly lack of interest towards self-gain."

"So what does that mean to you Varys?"

"It means you're trustworthy for the moment with me. I can say I've never seen anyone bold enough to refuse the King like you did yesterday. The man seemed torn between anger and respect for such an act." He'd pause, waving one hand for a moment. "That aside I know what you're seeking. Answers to young Stark's fall and the mysterious death of the late Jon Arryn."

"Lord Arryn's passing is more of Lord Stark's concern."

"Yet in the end it is the reason why we're all here isn't it? Think over that Geralt…"

Indeed Geralt was realizing that Varys had a point. Someone must have set up the last Hand's death considering his failing health was sudden and passing quick. In turn that lead to Ned's offer to become the new Hand and in turn the events of Bran's fall. While the fall he couldn't find a logical link to it all, the assassination attempt did to a degree. Was it to remove a distraction or to be a threat and warning?

"Do you believe the Lannister's are behind this?" Geralt said in a hush tone.

Varys moved closer, his sharp eyes glancing about to ensure they weren't being watched. "I have suspicions yet none that I wish to confirm. I work on certainties and the Lannister's do well to keep their secrets close."

"So then what's prevents you from finding out yourself?"

"Oh I could…yet they'd find a way to trace back to me. Yet you can work more independently without fear. After all if the Hound doesn't fear you, then what can?"

Geralt didn't answer, so Varys continued to speak. "My suggestion is that you trace back to Arryn's work. Learn what he was doing in the last months of his life. That is the best advice I can give safely." The chubby man moved back to his dark hallway. "I'd recommend you look to Lord Stark. If anything hasn't shared everything he knows." With those final words the man slipped away, sandaled feet patting across the floor until they faded.

For a moment Geralt stood there, giving a sigh as he'd turn down another hallway and for his room. "Spymasters…" He cursed lowly. Yet he couldn't deny the man had given worthwhile clues to him. While mysterious, he could tell Varys meant what he said in wanting to help the common people of the Kingdom. Why was no doubt a personal matter, yet he felt it be connected to the strange man's past. He'd have to learn the full story in time.

Unlocking the door to his room, he'd first quickly check the chest to ensure his sword, armor and supplies were safe. With everything accounted for he'd change into fresh clothes for the night and set his steel blade close to the bedside. It wasn't hard for the Witcher to drift to sleep, mind and body resting yet senses on guard for any lurking surprises which, thankful, did not come tonight.

…

The next few days were a bit of a standstill for the investigation so far. The issue was that everyone was constantly working and moving about be it through the massive Keep or into the vast city. Tyrion was always off, no doubt chatting with the visiting nobility that was arriving every day. Eddard was often in meetings or locked away in his private tower, making it hard to get a moment of his time. If anything he felt Ned was doing his own part in finding clues, while keeping a low profile by following his duties as the King's Hand.

In the meanwhile Geralt would return to Mott every day, bringing along his silver sword, Witcher armor and the collection of exotic materials. The master smith spend ages examining everything that the Witcher brought with him, showing a quite studious nature in the man along with his attention to detail.

"This silver blade is a work of art!" He praised as he finished examining the blade much like he had done with the steel one. "The hilt is a master piece with the wolf heads. If anything this seems like a weapon fitting of the Starks. I'm curious, does the more ornate style have any reason to it."

"More symbolic really yet the notes say they can affect certain creatures, so of a warding. Can't say it's worked though." Geralt answered back.

"Either way this weapon is impressive. Shame the silver does make the sword less effective against armor and metal weapons. The weapon be worn out quickly if used in such a way." The man's attention shifted onto Geralt's armor, a mix of fine studded leather and dark iron chain pieces. "Now this armor is quite impressive. Leather work isn't a craft I work often with yet the material is far tougher. It's also light and flexible, showing the balance of chainmail and leather is evenly balanced."

"The leather is from the monsters I've slain. When the stuff is properly treated it can easily stop common blades although still leaves one bruised." Geralt explained.

"Fascinating. A shame you have no samples left." Mott muttered. "Yet this armor isn't going to protect you that well against the quality weapons the knights will use in the tournament. I understand you prefer light armor for the mobility, relying on dodging about, yet in a melee you won't be able to avoid every attack coming from all sides."

Geralt had to admit the master smith had a point. His armor was good yet it was designed more to fight monsters who could easily rip plate armor apart, requiring tough yet lighter armor for avoiding such strong and quick attacks. "I take you have some ideas in mind?"

The smith nodded. "Your armor can be reinforced with light plating in key spots that shouldn't hamper your movement too much or limit your flexibility. I think I'll work on some designs and you can decide what is worth adding to the overall armor."

"Sounds like a plan." Geralt collected all his gear into his pack, leaving behind the master smith's payment of meteorite ore and dark iron. Already the man had a pleased grin on his face, considering the materials were a worth a fortune no doubt and create quite priceless weapons or armor.

"If you wished it I'd make a whole armory of gear for you with just these supplies as payment. I promise all my work will beyond perfection."

Geralt smirked at the man's boast yet he couldn't help but believe it to a degree. "Take care Mott. I'll check in next week." Leaving the lavish smithy, Geralt would take the long walk back to the Red Keep, hoping today he'd be able to question Tyrion about the dagger he supposedly won or with Ned about looking into what Jon Arryn was doing in the last months of his life. There was no incidents on the walk there or getting inside the keep.

Heading through the living quarters, he'd notice Sansa scrolling along the hallway, seeming to be heading for the gardens. He hadn't talk to her ever since the incident at the Inn, making him worry how the girl felt after her dire wolf was killed. She'd move on ahead, while he'd hurry to his room, packing and locking his gear back inside the chest.

Following the hallway and down a set of stairs, Geralt could just see Sansa about to enter the pathways of the lush gardens. "Sansa, mind if I speak with you?" He spoke up to get her attention.

The girl at first seemed startled, perhaps not expecting someone to speak up to her while she was deep in her thoughts. See the Witcher she did calm slightly, yet her hands grasped together nervously. "I…of course Geralt." She said hesitantly before letting him near her. They'd begin to walk down the trail, the girl glancing away slightly to look at the well trim hedges blooming with flowers.

"So how has the Red Keep been so far?" He asked after a long moment of silence.

"The Keep is lovely, almost like the castles you hear in the old tales or of Toussaint that you have shared." She said, her tone sounding more cheerful. "My room has such a wonderful view and the chambers I do my studies make Winterfell's seem plain in compare." However a small annoyed look hinted her face. "That is when Arya isn't be bothersome. She rarely stays put and has been rude ever since the Inn." The mention of the place had her take a deep breath, yet she calmed herself quickly.

"I understand how troubling it was losing Lady." Geralt spoke calmly to her. "She didn't deserve it."

"If Arya hadn't…been playing around or kept her wolf in check…it wouldn't have happened."

"You can't blame your sister over what happened." He quickly answered back. "Do you forget how the Prince swung at her? If the dire wolf hadn't mauled her…" However he stopped himself, realizing what he was suggesting.

Sansa gulped worrying considering the Witcher's tone, which had been cold and quite threatening for a moment. "Joffrey's…complicated. He's not use to being around other people." She explained. "After what happened...he came to apologize, pleading that he didn't want Lady hurt." The girl sighed, seeming emotional on the matter. "He just needs someone at his side. Someone like me."

Geralt was very much baffled with what the girl was saying. Either she was deluding herself or she was that blind to the prince's troubling manners. It only took one conversation with the boy back in Winterfell to know he was a controlling sadist in the making. "You shouldn't be so quick to put such faith into him. You two maybe planned to be wed, yet it's not something to be so eager for."

"How would you know? What would someone like you understand about love!?" Sansa snapped out suddenly, although even seemed unsure with such an accusation.

The mention did make him think of home and Yennifer, wondering if she was worrying about him or planning on punishing him for his reckless choice to chase Ciri. He thought made him smile, which Sansa noticed, making her angered expression fade to look of embarrassment. "You're young Sansa. There is much to see and enjoy in life then just rushing off to marry who you believe to be your noble prince." He answered back. "Arya understands that…and something you too should try to understand."

The girl was silent, seeming to have a conflicting feelings from the way she shifted and glanced away. "I should go now Geralt. I'm not here for just a stroll…" She'd turn down one of the side trails. "Queen Cersei wishes to see me and…I can't keep her waiting." Hurrying along, she didn't give the Witcher a chance to speak up or even say goodbye.

Sighing, he'd turn back to return to the main keep. Already he had a bad feeling about Sansa, fearing she was being lulled towards the Lannister's influence, mainly through the queen and the prince. He had hoped the girl be more open minded yet she seemed too lost in her naivety or fearful of the truth. He just hoped this didn't become a danger one day.

…

It had now been a nearly a week since arriving at King's Landing and so far Geralt's investigation was at a standstill. Everything hinged on Catelyn and the assassin's dagger in her possession. Since once again Tyrion and Ned were seemingly busy during the late morning, the Witcher decided it was time deeper tour into the Flea Bottom slums. He had checked the outskirts of the district yet felt it was time to see the rough side of the capital. Of course he made sure to be carrying his steel sword for this little trip.

The route to Flea Bottom was along a long road that stretched between the Grand Sept square and to the Iron Gate to the far north. As he went further along the eastern side of the Dragon Pit hill, the more worn and packed the buildings became. What really stood out though was the smell. He was use to the dirty scents of the city and indeed even the Red Keep had some foul air drift its way. Yet within Flea Bottom is was an assult on his very honed senses.

"Ugh…place be a paradise for a zegul…" He gagged as he'd stroll through the packed street, slipping through the traveling crowds of lowly peasants. A few gazes did look to him, people snickering at how he seemed a bit stunned by the foul smells, although he was quickly getting used to it all. There were so many things happening all at once, making it hard for even him to keep track although he made sure to have one hand close to his coin purse as trio of kids got bit too close at times and even gave a testing tug at the pouch.

"Yet…classic slum life." He muttered as the kids hurried by again, no doubt to make another attempt at snagging his gold. This time though he had one hand reach out stopping the three who nearly tumbled into each other. "Should cut that out."

One of the kids gave a small innocent grin. "Do what sire? We're just playing?" The other two nodded in agreement, giving their own cute smiles back.

The Witcher shrugged as he'd reach into the pouch, pulling out a gold dragon which the trio stared at wide eyed. He bet this was their first look such a coin in their very young lives. "I'm looking for the biggest market here. Guide me there and answer my questions and I'll make it two."

"The Leather Mill! The Leather Mill!" The three quickly chanted out, jumping eagerly about. "They sell all the leathers used in the city. Even the higher merchants come there to buy!" One kid remarked. "Sell best Bowl of Brown too! Hey…how much do you think we can buy with a gold dragon?" Already the three were chattering, nearly forgetting about Geralt.

"Kids…focus." He muttered, holding the coin up. "Can you show me the way then?"

The three nodded and hurried around him, nudging and tugging the Witcher along the alleys until he followed along. "Bet we could buy a couple goats with one coin!" One kid giggled. "Nah, not if da wastes it on the ale!" Another argued while the third focused on Geralt, seeming now to notice his cat eyes. "How you get cat eyes? My sis always says she wanted those." The boy suddenly got a teasing poke to the side by the girl. "Did not! Besides he got wolf eyes if you ask me."

The two arguing was amusing yet he'd speak up. "More like cat eyes. Trust me…was painful to get them."

"Aw…be nice to have." The girl whined before her brother spoke up. "So what questions you got sire? I mean…we know a lot about Flea Bottom."

Geralt thought for a moment. "Any famous types around? Well liked and reputable people."

"Ah! The Onion Knight!" One boy quickly answered. "He's a rich man! One of them uuhhh…sailor men? He has a big boat and trades here all the time."

"Onion Knight? Very odd title for a merchant."

"Well he got it for sneaking food during the war. Not sure where or for who…but they made him a knight!" The boy explained.

A short while walking and the group soon entered the largest square the massive slum had to offer. Stands were set all around were people were selling meats, vegetables, tools and leather. Geralt strolled around while the kids hurried about, greeting people and checking out items, no doubt debating on what they'd buy. When he thought about it, he realized that they wouldn't have an easy way of getting change for one gold dragon, much less two.

"Should have brought smaller coins." He muttered before one of the kids tugged at his arm.

"There he is! The knight!" The boy pointed out.

At one of the larger stands there was a man dressed in fine dark and brown leather clothes, fitting garb for a higher ranked sailor, perhaps a captain. The man seemed to be gentlemen with balding yet well-kept gray hair and a trimmed full beard. Whenever the man raised his left gloved hand up, Geralt noticed how the fingers of it were soften as the first knucles on all but his thumb were missing.

"I need twenty crates of harden leather within the month good sir. It's a lot, but you know I'll be paying the full price for it all." The man said, his tone of voice quite formal and well-spoken.

"I know you're gold is good Davos but that's just such a massive order. My tannery will be hard pressed to meet the demand." The merchant muttered. "Why not get the rest of it ordered from the others?"

"Because your quality is the best. I'll give you an extra week to get the order finished since I'll be moving in and out of port doing other shipments."

The merchant thought for a moment and nodded. "Very well. That sounds doable to me." The two men shook hands before Davos got quite the sizable coin pouch out to pay the upfront costs before turning about, nearly running into the Witcher.

"Ah excuse me!" He quickly apologize before getting a good look of the Witcher, noticing his white hair and yellow cat eyes, making him stare for a moment. "I umm…are your eyes alright sir?"

"Just fine. Don't worry I get that reaction a lot." Geralt casually answered back. "So I take you're the uh…Onion Knight I've heard about." By this point the kids nearby hurried to Davos, giggling as they hurried around the old man.

"Ah I take these rascals told you about my amusing title." He'd give a playfully ruffle to one boy's hair, making the boy duck away. "Aye that be me. Really the knight title is something I think casually off. Here I'm simply an old resident of Flea Bottom who simply knows to pay respects to his home."

"So you're common born who's been knighted. Quite impressive. Only know a few who got such the honor…me being one such."

"Heh, guess we can relate on that matter." Davos chuckled before the kids hurried to Geralt.

"So can we have our gold dragons now?" The girl said with a small grin.

Geralt glanced to the trader who'd quickly realize the Witcher's little problem. "He owes you coin doesn't he? Yes a gold dragon be a fortune yet if you lose it…well…may as not have one to begin with." Opening his coin pouch though he'd take out a bunch of silver coins with a moon on it. "Yet I can give you that much in silver. You buy all the things you want without worry of losing that one coin."

The kids muttered, seeming to debate on the matter before nodding in agreement. Davos grinned before getting a smaller pouch and the sixty silver filled into it. The kids took the pouch, looking in to see their small fortune with joyful looks on their face.

"Don't spend it all. Get your families a real meal, good tools or a healthy animal." Geralt advised as he'd hand Davos the gold coins in exchange.

"Yes White Wolf!" The kids answered back before hurrying away, no doubt to the nearest sweets stand.

Davos sighed as he glanced back at Geralt. "Sort of a bad choice dealing with gold in these parts. Silvers and coppers are more reasonable."

"Blame it on the mirror merchant I dealt with." The Witcher muttered. "Only traded in gold dragons.

"Seven…must be quite a rich and famed man to deal in such a way."

"You have no idea." The two strolled through the market, continuing their chat. "Anyway, guess some proper introduction is needed. Geralt of Rivia, Witcher and advisor to Lord Eddard Stark."

"Davos Seaworth. Trader and knight in service to Lord Stannis Baratheon who is currently the Master of Ships. You could say I'm his right hand man when it comes to the navy."

"I take he is having you run some major deliveries considering your order."

"Aye. Takes a lot to make a warship. We've been rebuilding ever since the Rebellion and only been expanding since King Robert has been leading. Man may prefer battle out on the field yet understands the need for a good defense at sea."

"Especially with the threat of horse raiders ready to charge over it." Geralt jested.

"So you heard those rumors. I can say I'm just as doubtful. Dothraki are a vast and fear horde, yet the sea is their greatest fear above all else." Davos remarked. "So you say you serve Lord Stark? Curious…what brings you to Flea Bottom then?"

"An investigation. I can't say much more yet it's a personal matter for Lord Stark."

"Interesting." The man muttered as they'd stop at one of the stalls, letting Davos eye over some of the tools laid out. "I can say I know every honest merchant and craftsman in these slums along with a good deal of more…shady types from the old days."

"From the smuggling days I take?"

"Not a favored piece of history…yet one I'm honest about." He'd raise his left hand, showing the shortened fingers. "Stannis made sure that I paid for those crimes. I know you no doubt see it cruel, yet the man is honest and took no joy in enforcing the laws of the land."

"Back home the last king simply strung up smugglers."

"Heh then guess I count myself grateful. Shorten a few fingers and in return a rose to nobility."

"Anyway do you think you can share some of these shadow connections?"

"I could if given the time." He'd think for a moment. "They have soup kitchens all around Flea Bottom, yet a few are run by more rough types. Could set up a meet in a day or so."

Yet as Davos spoke Geralt noticed two odd individuals among the crowds of commoners. For a moment he thought he just mistaken, yet there was no one else who had that strange hair tied under the chin style.

"Rodrik?" Geralt muttered as he watched the Master-At-Arms glance about before guiding a dark cloaked woman through the crowd.

"Who?" Davos said curiously as he glanced back for a moment, yet when he looked to Geralt the Witcher was gone. The trader glanced about quickly before seeing the white hair man hurrying through the crowd.

Already Rodrik and the cloaked Catelyn were heading for a side alley westward. It seemed to two were taking a more discreet route through the city with less of a guard presence. How they had slipped by the guards at the gate is what confused him though. He'd have to question them on that matter later on. The two were quick in trying to slip away through the maze of alleys, maybe knowing they were being followed or just trying to take the most confusing route possible.

He'd hear their footsteps suddenly turn into a run, making him hurry after and around the last corner they had made. Suddenly he was face to face with a dirty middle aged man who had a surprised look on his face as he stared into those cat like eyes.

Oi!? What the hell are you?!" He started before a large fellows lurking off to the side stepped into view. "What's that?"

"Man got cat eyes! No wonder those our two were in a hurry." The slim man answered back before Geralt moved to get around him. "Hey hey hey! This is OUR alley. If you be passing you pay the toll."

"No. Move aside." Geralt coldly stated.

The man must have been daft as he'd smirk despite Geralt's dead serious stare. "Really? You don't understand you-" He'd move to draw for a dagger at his belt yet Geralt didn't even give him a chance. Before the 'toll man' could react the Witcher grasped him by the back of the head and slammed him face first against the nearby wall. There was the crunch of a nose being broken and a quite thick splatter of blood left where the man's face had met hard stone. The fat man standing nearby was gawking, looking down at his friend who was out cold with his nose badly broken and oozing blood.

"F-Fred…you fucker why you-" The man stammered before suddenly having the Witcher's hand wave before his face.

"You're friend tripped. He need that nose fixed." Geralt said, the Axii sign making the other thug give a dazed look as the spell influenced his weak mind.

"Right. Fred tripped…badly." He repeated, giving the Witcher the chance to move along. His pace quickened as he tried to catch up with Catelyn and Rodrik, not letting anyone or anything slow him. After a moment, he'd head rattling of a door which made him slow his pace to peak around the corner. Rodrik was at a door which seemed to lead farther westward, no doubt this being a checkpoint used in case of invasion or siege.

"Its stuck fast my lady. Perhaps we should double back and…" Rodrik started.

"Rather not risk hurrying by those ruffians." Catelyn said in a hush voice.

"I can handle them easily." The master-at-arm's patted the pomel of his sheathed sword, yet Catelyn shook her head.

"No fighting or distractions. We have to-" However at this point she'd just hear Geralt step closer to him. Rodrik glanced up, a look of surprise showing on his face when he recognized him. Yet before he could say anything Catelyn was quick to lash out suddenly.

It was a clumsy and blind attack, yet the gleam of Valyian steel shined before him as the woman slashed that fine dagger at him. Yet he'd simply grab her wrist, stopping her before the weapon even got close to him. A shocked gasp escaped from the woman before she glanced right at his face, fear showing in her eyes for a moment before she took realized who it was.

"G-Geralt?" She remarked, the calm cold look he gave drawing worry from him.

"Lady Stark." He muttered before his hand shifted as he'd easily pull the dagger from her loose grasp, considering her hands were quite bandaged from the dagger he now held. For a moment he examined the curved dagger curiously before glancing back at her. "A bit unwise to lash out like that."

"I…you took me by surprise. Besides I didn't expect you to…"

"Be here? Indeed this is quite the chance encounter." He interrupted. "Which is why you will be coming with me now."

"That won't be needed Geralt I have-"

"It wasn't a request Lady Stark but an order. You have a lot of explaining to do, both to me and your husband." He'd calmly state as he sheathed the dagger, his calm yet serious glaze locking with her's as she seemed to desperately find the right words to argue back.

For a moment Geralt couldn't help but feel a bit of pride and amusement at having the noblewoman for once at a loss for words.

…

 **Notice: Quite a dense chapter yet hopefully one everyone will enjoy! Intrigue builds and everyones most favored battles draw near! Keeping up the semi-weekly release pace so far. Let's hope life doesn't get any more complex for the next few months.**


	16. S1-E15: City of Kings Part 3

**Chapter 15: City of Kings Part 3**

 **Forward: Wow! 56,000+ views and 400 favorites! I never imagine I'd get this much attention, yet I am deeply honored by everyone's interest in this story! I thank all of you for this great milestone!**

…

Lady Catelyn shifted in her seat, nervously fiddling her hands about on her and focusing her gaze to the large open window in Littlefinger's office. Her gaze shifted to Sir Rodrik who pacing around the room, the old yet experienced master-at-arms seeming restless after leaving Flea Bottom. Yet what had the noblewoman nervous was Geralt himself who was leaned back by the wall near the door, his calm yellow eyes set on her unblinking.

"It isn't needed for you to guard me Geralt. Rodrik is more than capable while we wait for my husband."

Geralt didn't answer, staying silent which was unnerving for the woman.

"I don't understand this treatment. I am thankful Lord Petyr has taken us under his protection…even if I wish we did not have to stay at a brothel."

The Witcher still said nothing. Again Catelyn shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

"My reasons for coming here were just. Ned needed to be warned and shown proof that the Lannister's are behind it all. Jon Aryan's death, Bran's fall and the attempt on his life. I know the Lannisters are behind it!"

"Yet are you willing to bet the lives of your family on that?" Geralt finally answered back, voice calm and serious. "I'll admit the Lannister's are the prime suspects, yet we can rush making accusations." He'd step closer to her, continuing to speak. "If you were so concerned, why not send extra men from the North with the dagger in hand."

"I had to be certain it was delivered and Ned warned!" She quickly answered back.

"Despite the risk of being noticed? If you were spotted you could have tipped off the conspirators who would no doubt plan to counter us or be fearful enough to take more aggressive actions be it towards you, Eddard or your daughters."

Catelyn was silent for a moment, a troubled look on her face. "I thought it was the best choice."

Before anyone could say anything more, there'd be a suddenly yell and grunt outside along with a hushed angry voice. "You're a funny man you know that?!"

Catelyn and Geralt both recognized that voice, yet before the Witcher could move the woman was already at the open window. She'd lean out, giving a small gasp before speaking out. "Ned!"

Geralt was close behind her, looking out to see Lord Stark with one hand around Littlefinger's throat, the man struggling and gasping for breath. The instant Ned saw his wife, the fierce look on his face was gone. The iron grip on Lord Baelish's throat quickly let go as the man hurried into the brothel, Littlefinger following close behind after catching his breath. Yet Geralt did just catch a few words the man muttered.

"…quick tempers and slow minds…" Petyr muttered, a small smirk of amusement just on his lips.

It didn't take long for the two to arrive at the study, Ned rushing in and gazing at Catelyn. For a moment the two stared at each other before hurrying to embrace, sharing a short kiss. They whispered words to each other which Geralt try not to pry on, knowing it be rude to do so. When Littlefinger at last entered, the two would shift away, yet remain close besides each other as they'd faced the Master of Coin.

"As you can see. She is here as I promised." Baelish remarked. "If anything you should thank Geralt for finding her."

Ned glanced at the Witcher, giving a short thankful nod before guiding his wife to the nearby chair once more. "We have a lot to talk about Cat." He said as he'd stand before her.

"I know…" She sighed, seeming calmer now with her husband was with her.

Geralt stepped up, his serious look softening slightly. "Guess we should start with the attack that happened back in Winterfell. Was there anything special about the man who attacked you?"

She'd nod. "It was late at night. Robb and I were with Bran who was still asleep from his fall. The fire bell was run as one of the yard stables was suddenly ablaze. Robb hurried out to help and lead the men, while I stayed with Bran." She'd take a steady breath. "Then the stranger came in. He was dirty, wearing a hooded outfit. He seemed surprised that I was there said 'I wasn't supposed to be here'."

"Interesting…seems like he wasn't planning on killing anyone else." Geralt remarked.

Catelyn continued to speak. "He claimed Bran was already dead and that this was a mercy before he…drew that dagger. I got in his way and we struggled. He tried to kill me yet I…stopped the dagger…" She'd hold up her hands, still bandaged up.

"I'll need to look at those later. I know Luwin no doubt tended to them yet the healing seems to be slow."

"Thank you Geralt." She muttered. "In the end the assassin knocked me aside before Summer attacked and killed him. He was inches from Bran and…" She'd take a deep shaky breath while Ned put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, muttering something to her.

At this point Geralt took the time to examine the infamous dagger up close. Indeed it was a fine weapon in deadly quality and artistic design. His attention did shift to Rodrik who had been quiet for most of the day, making him wonder what was on the Master-of-Arms mind. "Something bothering you?"

The old knight sighed and nodded. "Just this whole matter. I understand Catelyn's drive to find the truth behind Bran's crippling, yet feel coming here was a mistake." He muttered. "I tried to dissuade her at first, but she was committed to coming to the capital. While I wished to stay and guard Bran, I couldn't help Lady Catelyn travel alone."

Geralt knew that Rodrik understood the issues this journey meant, along with how it conflicted with his sense of duty. "Don't be hard on yourself. You did well to keep Lady Catelyn safe and hidden during the long trip here." He assured the knight. "Just be sure to be as dutiful when you're heading back to Winterfell."

"Heh…that will be a journey back for sure. Yet I do feel it maybe a while before we leave the capital. Catelyn hardly slept the whole trip and traveled hard once we were on the road."

Looking at the woman, the exhausted hints showed more. The dark circles hinting under her eyes and her body shook a bit from stress. It surprised him she had hidden this for the last few hours, yet only now during a moment of peace did it show. A bit of guilt was felt for being harsh towards her, yet he felt being serious with her had made his points clear.

Turning to Ned and Catelyn, he'd move up to the woman. "Let me see your hands."

She'd nod as she held them out, letting him unwrap the bandages which were quite new. No doubt Rodrik used what basic training he had to ensure her injury was at least tended. Seeing the cut, the skin was still red and gashes still deep even with the stitching Luwin had done over a month ago.

"Nearly cut to the bone no doubt. Valyrian steel can cut through armor with ease…flesh is like butter for it." He muttered. "Flex your hands. How is your feeling? Any pain or numbness?"

The woman opened and closed her hands, wincing a bit when she tried to close them into fists. "Hurts when I try to do that or grip anything tightly. I can't feel much at the center of the palms."

"Must have cut the muscles badly, no doubt from you grabbing the blade. Will take a long time to fully heal, yet could have some permanent damage. Won't know for a few months."

Catelyn nodded while letting him rewrap the bandages. Ned had a troubled look, a hint of anger showing in his eyes over this news. "Is there any treatments that can help?"

"Constant attention by a Maester would be recommended yet I do have some formula and herbs to make specialized ointments. I'll have some prepared by tomorrow at the least."

"Good. We'll need to find a place for her to stay and rest for a while. It will give us time to plan a quick and discrete way for her and Rodrik to leave the city.

At this point Petyr spoke up. "I'd be glad to accommodate Catelyn for as long as needed. I have more comfortable and secret places for her to stay, away from the prying eyes of the Lannisters." Pausing, he'd think for a moment. "In fact I have a plan of how to get her out of the city."

"Interesting. What do you have in mind?" Geralt questioned.

"In little over a week the tournament in honor of Ned will be hosted. During that time the city and royal guard will be busy with the event's security and keeping the common people in line during it." Littlefinger explained. "The day of the Melee will be the busiest, giving Lady Catelyn the perfect chance to slip out of the city."

Both Ned and Geralt looked to each other, speaking in low voices. "Would it work?" Eddard questioned.

"The Melee is the most popular event from what the rumors say. Fifty of the land's most skilled knights and warriors battling it out will draw a large crowd. Besides they no doubt need the extra men to ensure no foul play happens." Geralt answered back.

Eddard thought for a moment, glancing slightly at Petry who was beside Catelyn, the two sharing a private conversation, yet the noblewoman had quite the thankful look on her face. "Tell me…do you trust him?"

The question was suddenly, yet Geralt could understand why. From the moment Ned and Littlefinger had met there was a quick distrust between them. It was obvious both men loved Catelyn, yet Petyr held a deep affection which the woman seemingly didn't notice. Whatever past the two had seemed to remain to a degree, yet the man had a more romantic longing still for the married woman.

"I don't, yet we have few options. You and he may have differences, yet he does care for your wife's wellbeing. At least take advantage of that."Geralt whispered back.

Ned sighed and nodded before looking to Petyr. "Very well. I'll trust you with taking care of Catelyn until the last day of the tournament."

"I will guard her with my life if need be." Lord Baelish replied with a short nod.

Eddard stepped closer to the lord, a serious look. "You better be willing." He muttered quite threateningly, making Littlefinger pale slightly yet keep that friendly small smile. Ned moved to talk with Catelyn privately for a moment before the two shared a short kiss and embrace. "I'll try to visit you when chance comes. For now rest and be safe." With that, he'd move to leave the room, waiting at the doorway for Geralt.

The Witcher gave a respectful nod to Petyr before moving to Catelyn. "Try to rest Lady Stark. Trust me, we'll find the truth about the Lannisters." He'd move to follow Eddard out of the study, yet noticed the odd look on conflict in Catelyn's eyes before he left.

The two walked down the street until they were far enough from Littlefinger's brothel. Turning down a side alley, Geralt glanced around to make sure no one was lurking around. "I have some new leads to follow up."

"Tell me."

"Lord Baelish claims the dagger was his." Geralt drew the weapon, giving Eddard time to examine the fine dagger. "I find it odd he hasn't requested it back. Maybe he isn't that attached to it or is trying to keep us in his favor."

"The man is materialistic to a degree. How did he come to lose it though?"

"Claims he lost it on a bet with Tyrion Lannister during the tourney for Joffrey's name day. I don't buy his story though."

Ned gave a curious look. "Explain."

"He said Tyrion betted against his brother. I doubt even he would go against family pride on such awager."

"And you're certain of that?"

"I've spent a bit over a month with him, I have a good idea of his personality and character. Still I plan to question him on the matter."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Varys give me a surprise visit a few days back."

"Ah…yes…The Master of Whispers. I can say he did the same for me. Shared some very troubling secrets with me about Arryn."

"He did mentioned your mentor. Claimed everything connected back to him and his actions before his death should be traced back."

"Aye…and I've been doing that." Ned remarked back. "He was looking to records relating to orphans throughout King's Landing, those with certain traits and mothers."

"Let me guess, bastards of Robert's no doubt."

"This has been a habit of his for years, even before the Rebellion." Sighing, Ned rubbed his forehead in a tired manner. "I'm not sure if the Lannister's know of this or care. Either way Arryn had a keen interest in a few older orphans."

"I could check up on them. See if I can get any idea of what he was looking for."

Ned thought for a moment and nodded. "It be fitting. If I went out it would draw attention no doubt." Thinking for a moment, a small realization came to him. "In fact the last recent child is close by. A boy named Gendry lives and works at Tobho Mott's workshop. Since you no doubt plan to see him with the dagger, you can see the young man as well."

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll head over right now." Geralt moved to leave the alley. "Stay watchful Ned."

"As do you Geralt." Eddard muttered as the Witcher left the alley.

…

Geralt took the main route back to Great Sept square, yet before he could head southwest for the Street of Steel, a familiar voice called out to him. "Geralt! By the Sevens man you had me worried there!" Glancing about, he'd see it was Davos who hurried through the crowd. "You bolted as if the devil was at your back. What happened?"

"Noticed someone important. Sorry I ran off like that without a warning."

"Its fine…just don't do that again." The Davos chuckled. "Anyway about that meeting you wanted set up..."

"Have had second thoughts on the idea. I found some new information that has changed my investigation quite a bit." Already Geralt was moving down the long street for the Street of Steel, Davos following along. "Have to pay a visit to a renowned blacksmith to examine this." He'd pat the sheathed assassin dagger, Davos quickly realizing it was no ordinary weapon.

"Curious. Seen plenty of weapons yet that seems like no common blade." He remarked. "Ah I forget though…is it alright if I tag along? I have a feeling of you're going on an important matter, but I'll admit I've always wished to meet the famed Tobho Mott."

Geralt thought for a moment and shrugged. "I see no issue with you tagging along. Just expect me to be busy dealing with some private deals with Mott." He'd lead the way, the sea captain following close along.

Entering the busy Street of Steel, Davos glanced around the man shops and stands with a curious interest. "Never been much of a fighter. Always prefer to do my battles behind the wheel of a ship or through negotiation and trade. Still, can't help but admire such work."

"Indeed."

Soon the two arrived at Mott's store and already Geralt could see Davos was amazed by the lavish building and it quite grand entrance. "Not sure if this is meant to be a manor or a shop."

The Witcher opened the way into the store, revealing the many displays of fine and exotic weapons the master smith had made. Already Davos was quick to go around the room, examining all the different weapons and armor with a curious interest. A young clerk would leave from one of the backrooms, quickly noticing the two yet recognizing the Witcher first.

"Ah! Master Geralt. I take you're here to see Master Mott?" The young man asked.

"Indeed. Have a weapon that I want him to examine."

"Of course. Umm…is the gentlemen there a companion of yours as well?" The clerk asked, pointing to Davos, who glanced over.

"Of course. He just wants to tour the place so…thought I could bring him along."

"That is if it isn't an issue." The trader added in a formal manner.

"Heh, it won't be sir. Please follow me. Master Mott is busy in the forge and tutoring his apprentices." The clerk nodded to a heavy wooden and iron bound door which he unlocked, leading to back yard area of the store. The true work was done here as there were a mix of forges, anvils and other workstations set around with young workmen busy on orders. All of them were focused on their tasks, hardly looking up at the three as they passed by.

"Quite young fellows." Davos remarked.

"And lucky. Mott only selects those he deems worthy to serve here at the forges. Most of them worked on the lesser shops along the Street of Steel or within Flea Bottom. You'd be surprised of the talent hidden away in those slums." The clerk explained. "All who work for him get free board and food as well, however he expects professionalism and dedication to their craft. I've seen plenty of aspiring students leave in just a few weeks at a time."

At the largest forge, Mott could be seen watching a young student, a fit teenager with short black hair pumping the bellows of the forge before shifting a heated piece of metal about within the fiery depths. The master smith was changed into more practical clothes instead of his fine robes, wearing light shirt with a leather apron and pants. "Good…the heat is just right." He muttered to the student who'd get a set of prongs out and pull the glowing metal out, laying it over the anvil. The student got a hammer out and began to shape the metal out, flattening and shaping it before heating it again to repeat the process. After a while though Mott realized that he had guests, making him glance over to Geralt and Davos. "Continue on Gendry. Don't over heat the blade too much else it will lose its shape."

"Of course sir." The teenager remarked before returning to his hammering.

Mott approaching Geralt and Davos, a friendly smile on his face as he and the Witcher shook hands. "Surprised to see me in leathers for once?"

"A bit. Guess silken robes don't work well for soot and smoke." Geralt chuckled back.

"Jests aside what brings you here so suddenly? I can see you've brought a friend…"

Davos gave a short bow. "Davos Seaworth at your service."

"Seaworth…ah yes the name is familiar. May not know the story of every House in the kingdoms, yet few new one appear like yours's especially from such common upbringings." Mott remarked. "How is Lord Stannis doing? Haven't seen him in years."

"Well enough. Actively expanding the fleet as of late, a claimed precaution to the rumors going on in Essos. Besides that he is…well…having issues on matters of faith but that is a personal matter."

The last bit was curious to Geralt yet he didn't pry on it just yet. Religion was usually the last subject on his mind. "Introductions aside I do have something to show you." He'd tug the assassin dagger out, Mott eyes widening seeing the weapon.

"Yes…interesting." Looking to Davos, he gave a small nod to him. "Geralt and I must talk privately. You're free to watch my students and see the forges. Just don't touch anything or disrupt the boys work."

"Of course."

Mott gestured for Geralt to follow him back into the shop and then into his study. With the door locked up, the master smith was quick to move to a table with a large tome set on it. Moving closer, the Witcher read the title of the book. "Blades of Lords: Chronicle of Valyrian Weapons." He remarked.

"A quite limited book. I doubt only a few Keeps and the Maesters of Old Town have other copies." He'd flip through the book, pages after pages having illustrations of valyrian steel weapons and the long histories many had. "Many of these blades predate to the Valyrian Empire. Some have been reforged in the early days of the Seven Kingdoms when the knowledge was not as limited." They'd reach one page that detailed Ice, describing how the weapon was given to the family a hundred years before the Doom destroyed the Valyrian Empire. It was an old blade indeed considering it was recently reached its fourth century since being forged.

"So what about this dagger? What's its story?"

Mott flipped through the pages, passing through many interesting sections until at last he stopped at page with a drawing of the curved ornate dagger. "Interesting…the weapon has gone through many renaming yet is often called the Dragon Fang. What many interest you the most was it came as a pair, as twin daggers."

"Twin daggers? That is curious."

"Indeed. The weapons predate to the Valyrian Empire from what this details. Such daggers were said to be commonplace, often a side arm or a show of office. Of course times change. The book says the daggers were often named after the greatest dragon of the time, yet that is of little importance." The man scanned the page. "Let's see…owned by that House then lost…then resold…stolen then rediscovered…AH! The last dagger was recorded of being gifted to House Baelish of the Fingers a few generations back. It mentions only one dagger though, so I guess it was lost over the centuries."

"Guess this confirms Lord Petyr's story of owning it. Course book will need an update on its ownership and history."

"Heh, doubt we will see a new edition over such a minor weapon. I can say this thing has passed hands more times than most and has quite the grim history of assassinations and murders."

"Often that is the only fame a dagger gets."

"I find it odd they didn't try reforging the weapons. Its steel be far more worthwhile as a short sword if done correctly."

Geralt had an odd idea come to mind. "It there even enough metal to do so? It's a large dagger but…I know reforging often loses some of its mass."

For a moment Mott was silent, glancing away for a moment before speaking. "It is possible. Admittedly the blueprints and materials you brought have given me new theories on valyrian steel. No concrete proof on making more steel, but perhaps given time…" He was silent, seeming unsure. "If I did reforge the dagger and mix it with compounded mix of meteorite ore and…Yes it could work."

"Mott what are you muttering about?"

"An idea. It's a crazy one yet one that tempts me." Sighing he'd shake his head. "As appealing as my theory is, I know this weapon is a piece of evidence in your investigation." He'd hand the dagger back to Geralt who seemed to stare thoughtfully at the curved weapon.

"You'll have to tell me one day. If anything it has me curious." Geralt remarked.

"Heh. One day yes. I need time to think it over…since one mistake will be costly." He'd close the book and sigh. "Daggers and history aside I have made progress on your armor improvements." Gesturing to small drafting desk, he'd point out some sheets of paper which Geralt began shifting through. "What do you think?"

For a while Geralt's yellow eyes scanned the pages, impressed at the detail up into the design, even calculating weight. "Different from what I usual wear but effective." Pausing, he'd glance back at Mott. "How long would you need?"

"Just a week. These improvements have to be carefully done considering the armor's special design. It should be ready before the tournament if that is what you're worried about."

"Good. I'll have it brought in by tomorrow morning and you can begin working on it." Stacking the design papers together, he'd step away from the desk. "Anyway there is one last matter. I'd like to speak to a student of yours, Gendry, the young man you were with earlier."

"Why is that?" Mott's eyes hinted a bit of worry in it for a moment.

"It's about my investigation. I'm following up on what Jon Arryn was doing before he died."

Mott was silent, a serious look hinting his face. "Geralt. You are a good friend but…I ask you not to pry on this matter."

"Why? Because Gendry is most likely one of King Robert's bastard, maybe his oldest?"

The smith glanced aside nervously. "The boy knows nothing of that."

"And I know that. Not trying to present him as the true heir to the Iron Throne or hurt him because of his bloodline. If anything he is better off here in your care. I don't give a damn about succession politics, only finding out why the late Hand had such an interest in him."

"Jon Arryn was…confirming if Gendry had traits of his father. He didn't talk much to the boy, only simple questions of his upbringing in Flea Bottom and how he came under my service. An unknown lord paid for his apprenticeship after his mother passed away. Overall the boy has been a natural working the forges and his been worth twice as much as the costs of taking care of him."

Already Geralt had some ideas on who may have paid for the boy's care. Perhaps Robert had learned of the woman's passing and in turn Gendry's orphaned state. Maybe the boy had drawn guilt from the man and in turn led to him trying to discretely support Gendry. "Interesting…still do you mind if I talk to him for a moment? Just short questions."

Mott sighed, seeming tense on the subject yet nodded. "Fine. But no mentions of the Baratheons or Kings!" He warned before leading Geralt out of his study and back outside. Davos seemed to have remained by Gendry's work station, casually chatting with the teenager who had gotten the blade forged and was now getting the blade wrapped up in insulating cloth for the annealing process. As the two neared Davos could just be overheard.

"Very nice. I can see why Master Mott praises you." Davos complimented, making a small smile cross the boy's face.

"Thank you my lord. I am hoping I'll be able to start my own forge…" His gaze drifted to a bull shaped helm. "I have the artistic talent Master Mott says yet just need to prefer the forging process." When he noticed Geralt and his master nearing, he'd quickly focus back on his work, getting the blade wrapped up and then laid out.

Davos noticed too, giving a small smile. "Ah I didn't bother the boy much sir. He was just finished up."

"No worries both of you." Mott assured them. "Good work though Gendry. We'll sharpen and hardening the blade tomorrow." Looking to Geralt, he'd continue to speak. "However Geralt here wishes to speak with you. Has a few questions to ask."

The boy looked to Geralt, a nervous hint showing when he saw those yellow cat eyes and the scarred face. "I…Of course sir."

Mott nodded before turning to leave, Davos following along. "I'll wait in the shop for you Geralt." Soon the trade and smith were beginning a friendly chat, leaving the Witcher with the young smith.

Geralt strolled into the workshop, glancing over a few tools and armor still needing to be finished. "So you've been living here for a while?"

Gendry nodded. "For over half my life when mother died…so…back when I was six."

The boy looked a few years older considering, yet no doubt the hard work had bulked him up more than most. "Never knew your father."

Gendry shrugged. "Mother never said much about him. Claimed he was a famous warrior from the Rebellion. Ages ago yet…remember how she looked. Sad, angry yet longing."

Geralt was silently for a moment, wondering just how tough life must have been for the woman. "Never wanted to find out about him?"

"No." Gendry muttered, glancing away a bit. "Sorry sir Geralt just…I'd rather not talk of it."

"Fair enough. Sorry to pry on it."

Gendry nodded, seeming to relax now. "Anything else?"

"Yes. A few month back did a nobleman come in for a visit? Someone who personally asked to speak to you."

A hint of curiosity showed in the boy's eyes. "Yes. He was asking pretty much the same questions as you. Why does that matter."

"It's private. Sorry…"

"Ah of course. Not a matter for an apprentice to know." The boy muttered.

"Heh from what I can tell you have the makings of a master about you." Geralt remarked. "Trust me, don't worry yourself about things. Focus on your work and own ambitions."

The simple yet inspiring words had Gendry nod. "A fair point…I'll keep that in mind ser."

"Then take care Gendry." He'd turn to leave, the boy having a thoughtful look on his face before he'd focus on cleaning up the workshop for the day.

…

Geralt said goodbye to Mott before he and Davos left his shop. "Well I can say that was an interesting visit. Another tale to tell my sons back home." The trader chuckled. "Mott mentioned you'll be at the tourney coming soon. Maybe I'll pay and visit, bet a bit on you since he seemed confident in ya."

"Heh now you're sounding like Tyrion. Still I wouldn't mind another friend in the stands."

The two soon reached the Great Sept plaza, ready to go their separate ways now. "Well, time I go back to my ship. Have a few more shipments to get loaded up before heading to Dragonstone then back again for all that leather." He remarked.

"Honest work I say. You take care Davos."

"As do you Geralt. Farewell."

Shaking hands, Davos turned to head down the street leading to the Fishmonger Plaza and for the Blackwater Harbor. Geralt moved to the northeast for the Red Keep, having no trouble along the way or getting inside the hold. When he reached his room though there was a notice on his door.

 _ **Geralt, could you please come to the west balcony hall midday tomorrow? I'd like you to meet my new dancing teacher Syrio. He says he knows you and wants you to see the Water Dance.**_

 _ **Arya**_

"Huh…dancing teacher?" It took a moment to realize what she meant, making him chuckle as he'd take the note off his door. Heading into his room, he'd toss the notice into the fireplace to burn it up before packing away his steel sword and leather clothing, changing into light sleep clothing for the night. "Guess I should check up. Did promise to train her."

…

Having slept into the late morning before getting up, remembering his deal with Mott yesterday. Once changed into his day clothes, he'd gather his Wolf School armor and take the long walk to Mott's shop, getting the armor checked in for the smith. By the time he had all that sorted out and back at the Red Keep, it would already be early midday. All it took was a few questions to find the way to the west hall, a small open hall that had a fine view of the city. Arriving there, he'd heard the clack of wooden swords and shuffling feet, along with Syrio speaking out.

"Keep your footing. Never be still during an attack or being on the defensive!"

Entering the hall, Geralt hanged back to see the First Sword of Bravos at work, the man shifting and stepping about while Arya did her best to match his movements. The two were in the middle of a sparring duel, Arya matching Syrio's foot work quite well yet not flowing with her stabs and strikes like the experienced man. In the end she overextended a strike and the fencer slipped up close, the blunt end of his practice sword pressed at her neck.

"And now your dead again." He chuckled, Arya sighing yet having a small smile before noticing the Witcher.

"Geralt! You got my letter!" She'd hurry over, giving him a surprising hug which caught him off guard. Again he had memories of Ciri doing the same when she was young, making a mix of feelings come to mind.

"Heh didn't think you missed me that much." He remarked once the girl let him go.

"Well you and father have been so busy. Sansa is dull…just talking about that stupid Joffrey and the witch of a queen."

The news of Sansa being around Cersei was interesting news. Thinking about it, he remembered how the girl had been in a hurry last he chatted with her, perhaps going off to meet the woman. "Well I'm here now." His gaze looked to Syrio's who had a friendly grin on his face.

"Pleasure to see you again Geralt. Did you teach the girl beforehand? It seems she has a basics when it comes to the dance."

"More of offhanded learning. She always watched how I trained the soldiers and her brothers back in Winterfell."

"That right! He dueled Robb, Jon and Theon all at once. None of them could even touch him."

"Hmm…I see." The fencer paced around slightly as Geralt walked more into the center of the hall. "I'd like to see for myself though." Kicking up Arya's dropped practice sword, he'd catch it with one hand before throwing it to Geralt. The Witcher didn't even flinch as he catch the weapon by the grip, spinning it about in his grasp. A grin crossed Syrio's lips. "Impressive. Very honed reflexes." The man's stance shifted to be side facing, one hand back at his hip and his sword arm out forward, holding the practice sword in a classic fencing style.

Geralt shifted his stance, sword arm back and left hand forward as he took a sideward stance as well. His footing was light as he stared down at the fencer who had a curious look in his eyes.

"Never seen such a stance." He remarked as he'd slowly pace about, circling the Witcher who'd move counter wise, keeping his distance and facing towards the man.

"Called the Fiery Dancer. Meant for more agile opponents." The Witcher explained. "Amusing how it's similar in name to your own style."

"Heh indeed!" Syrio's tensed, his friendly grin fading and a serious glare showed in his eyes. "Watch closely child. It is rare you see masters put their art to the test!" Arya nodded as she stood a good distance back, an excited look in her eyes as the two men locked gazes.

Soon their side shuffle ended as Syrio's lunged, moving quickly forward for a stab. Geralt was quicker, body turning about, sword arm twisting as he blocked a slash to his side. Both of them kept moving as Syrio's pressed the offense while Geralt focused on dodging or guarding in return. At times the Witcher got enough distance to attack back, going in for a quick stab which the fencer blocked yet only to flow into an upward slash and then a downward. The fencer was on guard now, realizing Geralt's blows had more strength then expected yet rapid in speed.

"Interesting. You steps flow like the Water Dance yet blows have such strength to it. An interesting combination." Syrio's remarked.

"Not getting nervous are you?"

"No…if anything I'm thrilled for a challenge!" Again he stepped forward, stringing a series of quick high and low blows which Geralt blocked. For a good while the two were caught up attacking and counter attacking, avoiding falling into an outright defensive. With them fighting up close, it meant one slick up would leave to a jab to the gut or a smack to the side, yet neither yielded. Geralt's decades of experience and mutant reflex just surpassed the fencer. However even the Witcher's exotic style couldn't get through Syrio's defenses because of his agile step and quick sword work.

Both lost track of time, yet Geralt could see Syrio's slowing, getting tired as he was putting so much effort to just protect himself from the Witcher. At this point the Witcher put forward a more aggressive move, stepping forward as Syrio's have a lightening with stab right at him. Quickly he'd turn and spin about, yet during the movement switch his practice sword into his left hand. By the time Syrio reacted to turn about for a guard for the right, only realize his mistake as Geralt's blade was just at his ribs. If it had been a real blade, the weapon would have sunk right up into the man's heart.

"Dead." Geralt muttered, giving a deep sigh as he'd catch his breath.

Syrio was panting, light sweat on his brow and a surprised look in his eyes. "Amazing indeed…a cunning deception." He chuckled as Geralt shifted back. Both glanced to Arya who stood there gawking, seeming at a loss for words.

"I…how…I couldn't even keep track." She murmured in pure awe.

"Heh that is how the duel is properly done. The final test for mastering the Water Dance is to move across a shallow pool. If one can fight across the surface without rippling it, then it is a true show of mastery." He'd give a small bow to Geralt. "I can say this man has been the first to best me since I've gained my title. A compliment that I doubt I'll ever share again."

"You humble me. If anything you've given me quite the challenge for once." Geralt remarked back respectfully, one hand out to be shaken.

Syrio chuckled, shaking Geralt's hand firmly. "We must do a rematch one day. For now though we have Arya's lesson to tend to." Looking to the girl, he'd toss his practice sword to her, which she caught was ease. "I think Geralt here can help with your sword arm while I your footwork. Hone both and in turn balance yourself."

"I get the idea." Arya agreed. "Just not sure I'll fight like you two though."

"Never said never." Geralt chuckled. "Trust me, you'll find your own style in the end. Everyone does."

"A good advice I say. Now then I need a moment to catch my breath. Why not show Geralt what you have learned so far."

The girl nodded as she'd step up, taking a similar stance as the fencer while Geralt shifted into his own poise. She'd start off with a lunge much like Syrio's which Geralt blocked aside with ease, yet let Arya continue into a flow of slashes and attacks. She was overly aggressive in her moves, swinging to widely or over extending herself whenever she stabbed out. Whenever she did, he'd be quick to attack at her outstretched arm or her exposed side, making Arya give a yelp whenever the practice sword tapped at her.

"Have you sword arm move with you. Be it defense or offense you mustn't simply leave your arm exposed." He explained to her.

Arya nodded as the two kept up their sparring lesson while Syrio stood by, a pleased look on his face as he observed how Geralt taught her. The Witcher took the time to show her the proper steps for different attacks and blocks, taking his time as he'd correct her on how she held her weapon and angled her strikes. Once again they'd do another sparring match, Geralt testing her defenses this time, which she pulled off quite well. Yet as they fought, he'd notice by the entrance way that Ned was standing by, muttering something to Syrio's. For a moment Eddard had a proud look in his eyes as he watched Arya block and counter attack, yet as the fight continued on a hint of worry then fear showed in the man's expression, as if dreading the possible danger that may one day threaten the young girl.

…

The next few days Geralt took his time to begin researching his opponents for the upcoming tournament. The first rule of every Witcher was to understand his enemy, problem was he was facing up against forty nine highly skilled knights. Despite how humans lacked the natural deadliness of monsters, they were always very adaptive and unpredictable.

Sandor for one was one he had to keep an eye on, considering the man wouldn't be holding back against him and already had a good understanding of the Witcher's capabilities. Then there was the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. The man thrived off battle and brutality, using his brute strength over skill. Still the man seemed to have a cruel cunning from what the stories said, showing Geralt shouldn't underestimate him. Jaime's overall seemed to be well-balanced in all form from what he learned. Yet he felt in this event the royal knight was going to take this tourney quite seriously for once.

Geralt's attention did focus on one certain fighter, an odd addition who wasn't even from any House. Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest from Essos, renown for being a usual drinking buddy with King Robert. It seemed odd for a priest to have such a habit, although his faith was very different from most Geralt had heard of. Religion aside, the man was a fierce fighter, having taken part in facing the Ironborn during the Greyjoy Rebellion that happened years back. One trait he often had was lighting his sword with wildfire, a violate alchemy oil that reminded Geralt of some of his own oil and bomb mixtures. Overall the man was a wild card and one he'd have to look out for.

With his research aside, Geralt decided it was time to confront Tyrion with some questioning to learn the full truth about the assassin dagger. With taking the weapon in secret, Geralt headed for Tryion's quarters, yet when passing through the main hall run into the dwarf along with Bronn following along. The dwarf gave a small smile seeing the Witcher before approaching. "Ah Geralt! Been far too long since we spoke. I hope your time at the Keep and seeing the city has gone well."

Geralt nodded. "Peaceful enough. I take you've been busy with the tournament no doubt?"

"Mostly. Food and drink has to be ordered. Entertainment and the like. While Littlefinger may procure the coin, I've been appointed for the management of the tournament and as one of its announcer to give the event more flair." He answered back as the two headed outside to the main courtyard.

"Not sure if I should be excited or dreading how you'll act before the crowd."

"Oh ye of little faith." The dwarf sighed.

"Has a point Tyrion." Bronn added. "May very well stroll out onto half drunk and dressed."

Tyrion rolled his eyes as his two friends jested with him. "Just so you know I am trying to take this tournament seriously. Maybe the last one we have in long while if Lord Stark takes serious management on the spending."

"Funny I thought you'd be happy with your family having pulling the strings with capital in debt."

"As much as domination of the Kingdoms sound, I do look to the long term. After all a good amount of that debt remains to the Iron Bank and if payments are not meant…well…they methods on collecting are not welcoming."

Geralt thought a bit, remembering the Iron Bank from Bravos, being richest organization in the known world. In turn they controlled one of the most powerful mercenary armies as well, the Golden Company who were as Tyrion said their 'debt collectors'. "Seems odd to worry about such a matter."

"That's what separates me from the rest of my family…well except my father. He'd say otherwise yet if you met him you'd agree him and I are more like then my siblings."

"Debt and family aside, there is one important mater I need to talk to you about."

Tyrion had a questioning look, yet nodded in the end. "Very well…Bronn, go enjoy yourself for the evening. See you at the usual place." Taking out a small coin pouch, he'd hand it over to the sellsword who gave an approving grin.

"As you wish. Watch him well Geralt." Bronn chuckled as he headed for the gates out to the city.

Once he had strolled off Tyrion gestured to the side path that lead around the main keep and around to the vast gardens. Walking along for a while, Tyrion lead the Witcher to a secluded sitting area set by a fenced cliff side, ensuring no one could spy on them easily.

"So then. What is it?"

Geralt simply drew out the assassin dagger, the curved blade gleaming in the bright sunlight overhead. Tryion flinched a bit at the sight of the weapon, a quick realization showing in his eyes. "That's the assassin's blade isn't it?" Holding one hand out, Geralt handed it over for the dwarf to examine. "Valyrian and dragon bone. Not sure why a vagrant killer would use such a thing…could sell this for a fortune."

"You don't recognize it?"

"I study my weapons from time to time, yet don't know this one." Glancing up, he had a questioning look in his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"That dagger use to be Lord Baelish who claims he lost it in a bet with you." Geralt answered back. "On Joffrey's naming day tourney, he says you and him had a bet with the dagger being his offer. He said you betted against your brother who lost the last joust, leading to you winning the blade."

Tyrion was silent, yet a small grin did show across his face. "Heh…so it seems Petyr lied then. You know that I wouldn't-"

"Bet against your own brother? Yah I know. Been around you long enough to be certain on that fact, even told Baelish that." Pausing, he'd give a sigh. "So then…do you have any idea why he would lie to me?"

"Because he's trying to protect Robert no doubt." Tyrion muttered. "Thinking back I remember he had a wager with the King and it was no doubt that weapon. Robert is always interested by such items and no doubt put down a lot of gold towards the bet."

"So you mean Petyr lied to me to protect the King?"

"I'm not implying Robert is behind the assassination on Bran. The man isn't cruel to wish the boy harm or stupid enough to use such a weapon. If anything the dagger may have been gifted to someone among the court or royal family. Who though I cannot say."

"Yet Robert would know…" Geralt calmly stated.

"Yes…but maybe accusing him of providing a murder weapon isn't an appropriate approach. His temperament is bad enough, yet with you I doubt he'll keep himself restrained." Tyrion sighed and thought for a moment. "You need to win some favor back with him and putting on a god show in the tournament will no doubt do so."

"Ah yes…the classic fight for fame method." Geralt remarked in dry sarcasm.

"The man is simple in the end. Show him your fighting skill and honor manners. May very win the attention of the noble born by the end."

"Never had a good track record winning such attention, yet I'll take you word on that."

Tyron gave a small grin. "I've gotten you this far haven't I?" His expression though did turn more serious. "Still you should question Lord Baelish about his lie, learn his reasons for doing so."

"Oh I plan to…" Geralt muttered as he'd take the dagger back from the dwarf. "Already have a good idea on when to talk to him and I'll certainly get an answer."

The way the Witcher spoke had Tyrion nervous a bit. "Just don't cripple him."

Geralt simply shrugged. "So any other details about the tournament I should know about? Special rules or events?"

"Well…for the archery one ideas has come to mind, something that will amazing the masses. After all you can do something I doubt anyone in the known world can…well…maybe in Dorn or somewhere in Essos…but we don't have the coin hiring such talent."

It wasn't hard to figure out what the dwarf was meaning, considering Geralt had put his honed deflection technique to use in saving his life. "So…block a few arrows to wow the crowds? I don't mind being part of completions yet being a sideshow is something I don't enjoy."

"My, they really must treat you like dirt back in your country if you that reluctant." Tyrion muttered. "Yet you know everyone here see's you differently. You're a mystery to many! The stranger with unmatched skill, unshakeable will and strong sense of justice."

Geralt's thoughts drifted back to the night weeks ago, of how Gaunter had claimed he was the 'hero' this world needed. "Fine…guess there can't be much harm in your request." He sighed. "Anything else?"

"Hmm…yes. Your introduction."

"Introduction?"

"You know. The reading of titles and great deeds. Geralt of Rivia is good start yet there needs to be more."

Already the Witcher doubted the dwarf needed to know of his more infamous title as 'Butcher of Blaviken', even if it was falsely given. "Gwynbleidd is a title I was given the elves."

"Are you saying fair ageless beings with pointed ears gave you a title?" The dwarf chuckled in a jesting manner, yet seeing the Witcher's dead serious look had him become silent. "Ah…won't question further on that matter. So Gwyn-blade…Gwybleidd…what does it mean?"

"It's Elder Speech for White Wolf. Think of it as the ancient tongue from where I come from."

"Interesting…anything else?"

"Nothing I that the masses would know or care."

Tyrion thought for a moment, pacing about slowly. "What about the Wildling Slayer? Hmm…no…so violent in tone. Wildling Hunter? Maybe…"

"Rather not glorify that. Not like I actively seek out and kill them." Geralt argued.

"Fine. How about Defender of the North then? Far more neutral and heroic."

"That will do. Anything else you need to ask?"

Again the dwarf was silent, thinking once more before remembering something. "Yes one small detail. A bit personal yet one that I feel is needed…"

Already Geralt had a strange feeling, yet he'd sighed, giving a nod of agreement before hearing Tyrion's request.

…

The last few days quickly went by for Geralt, focusing on training Arya with Syrio's along with preparing himself for the upcoming games. Mott had sent a message saying the armor was finished and he would arrive with it at the tournament grounds. While he believed in the master smith's skills, he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous having his gear brought in at the last minute. The Melee wasn't until the second day joust and archery match. It made sense to put the mass battle for one day since it take that long just to sort through so many combatants. At the least he'd have the advantage of not being tired out or injured unlike the ones taking part in the joust.

When the dawn of the tournament came, Geralt made sure to get up early before the rest of the Keep was up and about. He'd rather no tag along on the royal march through the city streets like last time. Grabbing his swords and locking away all his other belongings, he'd head out for the court yard and the stables to get Roach. No one stopped him from leaving as he rode quickly out into the street of King's Landing heading for the south western gate, the Lion Gate as it was named for it's in honor for the Lannister's. He found that odd considering Tywin had sacked the city, leading to a lot of suffering for the commoners who were caught in the chaos.

Leaving the city walls, he'd turn southward through hilly woodland, following a wide trail that ended at a massive clearing. Already a small sea of colorful tents were set up, gathered pages and servants hurrying about to get everything in order. There was one massive stand meant for the nobility and smaller moveable stands set around for the commoners who'd come and watch. Currently the jousting lane was set up with practice targets set up for the early morning knights to ride against. Already a few of the men were about, charging and hitting the shield targets, yet Geralt paid little attention on them for now.

Soon he arrived at his tent, a light blue and white clothed one, which Tyrion had set up for him. The inside was simple since he didn't require much for the tournament, not needing a small armory of weapons like most knights often brought with them. The only furniture here being a simple yet comfortable cot bed, a sturdy chest for storage and a large table with a few chairs for relaxing. Yet at the table was Mott, who had quite the tired look on his face, seeming almost half asleep with the way he was slumped forward. The table had a piece of cloth covering over it, no doubt Geralt's improved armor. Hearing Geralt, the master smith shifted up to look at the Witcher, giving a small chuckle and smile.

"When you said early, I didn't think you meant this early."

Geralt smirked as he approached the table, taking a seat across from the man. "You didn't have to. Could have come later."

"Bah…may not be a morning person yet I felt this is a special occasion." Mott muttered, shifting up to stand from his seat. "Never worked so hard on an order like this. The time limit did put some pressure, yet this should be a masterpiece."

Pulling the cloth off, the Witcher armor was fully revealed. His eyes widened as he looked over the improved armor, quickly noting the changes given to it. The chest piece had been reinforced with dark iron plating along the shoulders, upper front and the collar area. More flexible plate was added to the upper arms for added protection while at the elbows the only forearm area metal bracers had been pieced into the chain and leather, with the left bracer being the Stark one he had been gifted. The gambeson armor under the fitting jacket had been toughed with a well spread pattern of studded fittings, yet felt not one bit heavier or inflexible under his inspection. The pants also had flexible plating on the sides of the leggings with leather strappings securing it to the toughed clothing. As for the boots they hadn't been changed too much yet feeling at the heel and toe of the shoe wear he could feel a bit of metal had been added to each end, no doubt to make kicks and stomps far more painful.

"Very impressive. The plating is well mixed with the leather and chain work." Geralt remarked.

"Thank you. Why not try it on, get a feel for it. I can promise you none of the plating will hamper your flexibility and movement."

The Witcher was quick to slip the armor on, doing a short stretch and flex once everything was fitted. He'd move his arms about, resting his reach front and back before doing the same with his legs. "Damn. Doesn't feel any different. How did you keep the weight the same?"

"Heh a new trade secret Geralt. Be glad you're the rest to wear such fine hybrid armor. In time I plan to make more with the designs you shared, make a simpler and affordable outfit before the next gathering of smiths."

"Guess that is my way of paying back." Geralt chuckled. "Anyway think I should head out and practice a bit with the new armor." Moving to leave the tent, he did stop at exit. "So do you plan to stay and watch the events?"

Mott thought for a moment and shrugged. "I plan to see the Melee at the least, having put a few bets down on you." Smirking, the man nodded. "Overall just do what you do best Witcher. I want to see a few of those stuck up knight meet a real match for once."

The Witcher smirked in amusement. "You'll see soon enough." Leaving the tent, he'd check around nearby until seeing a few practice dummies set nearby. While he prefer a sparring partner, he guessed this would do as he'd draw his steel sword, spinning the blade in his grasp and between hands. Stepping up towards the dump, he'd spring forward in a short leap, body twisting for a short spin before slashing his blade down at the dummy's shoulder. The enchanted steel slice nearly clean through the hard wood and padded leather, yet the Witcher didn't hesitate at all. Pulling his sword back, he'd shift about to the right as if avoiding an attack, sword swinging across the dummy's side before he stepped around to slash against the back.

He'd continue through different forms and attack patterns, although the dummy quickly began to fall apart as his mutant strength and razor sharp sword hacked at it. Being caught up in his practice fight, he nearly didn't hear someone approaching him. Finishing a final swing, the dummy crumbled apart, being little more than tinder after his onslaught. Glancing back, he'd see a few knights and pages staring before they'd glance quickly away to return to their duties.

"A bit eager for a fight aren't we?"

Tyrion step forward from the departing crowd, Bronn following close behind with an amused smirk.

"Damn Geralt. Hate to see what you'd to against a living target." The sell sword chuckled. "Of course I doubt your opponents will just stand by and let you dice them like that."

"Be disappointing if they were all that easy." Geralt bluntly answered back. "Curious you two show up early. Thought you'd arrive with the rest of the royal procession."

"Rather not get tied up by that march. Besides I doubt Cersei would want me seen even on the same street with her." Tyrion replied with a mischievous grin. "Besides, as presenter of the games I should take my job seriously. We have the more powerful and influential people from the Seven Kingdoms here after all."

Suddenly there was the trumpeting of a horn in the distance, quickly getting everyone's attention. The dwarf had a curious look on his face as he'd move around the tents as there was the stomp of horses approaching the tournament dement grounds.

"Strange…the King wasn't supposed to arrive for at least a few more hours." Tyrion muttered as the trio moved to investigate with the rest of the crowd.

"Maybe Robert being more proactive for once." Geralt jested.

However as they joined the crowd by the trail, they'd quickly realize the approaching riders weren't the royal guard, yet dressed in the red and golden colors of the Lannister family. The well armored men marched alongside one older gentlemen wearing similar yet more regal armor. The man had balding white blond hair with an aged yet hardened face. One glance though and Geralt blink in shock, unable to shake how similar the man looked to another he knew…and disliked ever so greatly.

Tyrion had his own look of surprise before it hardened into a more serious glare. "Well…this is unexpected and troubling." He muttered as the man rode towards them, his guard following closely around him to partly surrounding the trio now.

"I have a good idea who this is…the resemblance is clear."

"You'd best not let him hear that." Tyrion warned as the man neared them, his blue eyes having a commanding sternness to them.

For a moment the armored lord said nothing as he coldly looked down on Tyrion, a hint of distain showing in his eyes. The dwarf however kept that calm look, even a small hint of a grin on the corner of his lips to keep a look of confidence. The man's gaze shifted pass Bronn, giving the sellsword no attention as the man focused on Geralt. Like many others those eyes had a judging and calculating towards the Witcher, yet Geralt showed no weakness or fear towards the lord.

At last though Tyrion spoke up to break the unnerving silence. "Hello father. I must say this is a…surprising visit from you."

Tywin was silent for a moment, expression impassive even as he spoke. "Really now? For the first time in months our family is gathered in one place. It be unfitting of me to not visit…even if I detest Robert's senseless games." The man's voice had Geralt tense, unable to believe how it sounded exactly like Emhyr's. "Besides I heard much about this one…Geralt isn't it?" The man's gazed narrowed, curious hint showing across his aged face. "You have an odd look about you. Almost as if you've met me before…"

"Indeed my lord...let's just say you're a near splitting image." The Witcher answered back coldly, making Tyrion pale as he already felt things were about to go from bad to worse.

…

 **Notice: I thought to give the catspaw dagger some custom history to it, I do hope it's fitting considering the book and show has told little about it. A good reference for Geralt's improved armor is the Grandmaster Wolf Armor, with a few personal touches to it. Been a busy week with the upcoming holidays slowing work along with classes. As usual, share your thoughts on this chapter! Next time…the tournament of the Hand along with so very much awaited battles!**


	17. S1-E16: Tournament of the Hand

**Chapter 16: Tournament of the Hand**

…

For a long moment no one said anything, yet Tyrion and Tywin's guards seemed a little nervous from how Geralt spoke towards Lord Lannister. The stern eyed man stared down at the Witcher, yet Geralt didn't so much as blink from that sharp intimidating gaze. Yet after tense moment, Tywin gave small scowl or perhaps a smirk, Geralt wasn't certain considering how well the man kept such a composed temperament.

"Bold as the rumors say. I've heard how you speak out of line at times, even towards King Robert…" Tywin remarked.

"Bad habit from home." The Witcher answered back in dry sarcasm. "Had to deal with a lot of troublesome nobility over the years and the King is the type I disagree with the most."

"At least you're honest, a virtue few have here in King's Landing." Tywin was silent for a moment, thinking to himself before speaking again. "You are a curious visitor Geralt, one who may be worth my time considering."

Geralt didn't respond, though his passive look hinted he didn't like the noble's tone or choice of words. Tywin most likely didn't care yet did not comment on the Witcher's lack of a reaction. However, the sudden heavy stomp and clank of heavy horse armor could be heard coming up from behind Tywin's mounted guards. The Lannister men shifted their horses aside to reveal who approached the group. It was a giant of a man who rode atop an equally large horse, the biggest Geralt had ever since in all of his traveling. The war horse carried its massive rider who was decked in heavy iron armor with a barreled helm covering his head. On the right side of the saddle was a claymore, which would be considered oversize if not specially forged for this giant of a warrior. It wasn't hard for the Witcher to understand just who this heavy warrior was.

"Ah Gregor. Glad you caught up with us." Tywin casually greeted the iron knight.

The Mountain only have a muffled grunt from under his helmet, which turned just slightly to look over at Tyrion and Bronn before settling on Geralt. While the Witcher couldn't clearly see the man's face or eyes, he felt an intense aggression coming off from him.

"So…that's him?" Gregor suddenly remarked. "You're the one who's been trouble for my brother? Heh…you seem a bit small even for a pest."

"Gregor Clegane. Heard quite a lot about you." The Witcher tone was cold and intimidating despite its calm manner. "Surprised you evem care about Sandor."

"I don't." The man growled, the sound intensified with his helmet echoing it. "Yet I have a reputation maintain…one that I don't plan to let you or Sandor drag down…"

"Enough!" Tywin spoke up before anyone else. "You'll keep your temper in line over these next few days Gregor. Last tournament you caused enough unwanted trouble on and off the field. Step out of line and I will have you sent back to your holdings."

Gregor glanced at Tywin, making Geralt wonder if he'd snap back at his Lord or even lash out. However he'd give a frustrated grunt before forcing his war house about, heading off no doubt to his tent.

"You sure it's safe having him take part in the tournament?" Geralt questioned.

"The King requested for him so it is his duty to participate."

"Right…because a rapist and child murderer is worthy of fighting alongside knights." The expected dry sarcasm showed, yet there was no amusement in mentioning Gregor's 'achievements'. Tywin was silent, yet those sharp eyes hinted the man's curiosity over the Witcher's open hate towards his champion. "Best rest up Lord Lannister. The event will be starting in a few hours." With a short bow, Geralt turned to head towards his tent while Tyrion moved up to speak with his father as he'd slowly ride off to his own encampment.

 **...**

Once within his tent, Geralt unslung his sword from his back, stretching a bit as the stress of practice shifted off his shoulders. He was frustrated with his encounter with Tywin, mainly because of how much the man reminded him of the Emperor, however he knew he needed to keep those memories in check. If anything he was surprised Tywin had been so formal with him despite his sharp words and wit.

"Heh…Emhry would have given some cold threats at the least." He said with a small chuckle, remembering the tense encounters he had with the Emperor of Nilfgaard. However he stop his mutterings as he heard footsteps nearing his tent before Tyrion and Brann quickly entered. "I'd ask you'd knock first…yet that require a door."

"Amusing." Tyrion said before sighing. "I swear Geralt, I thought I have authority issues, yet you seem to be picking fights with every knight or lord you disagree with. However father seemed more impressed by your upfront behavior, even if he didn't show it."

"I'm more impressed you had the balls to talk back to the Mountain. Heard a lot about the man…thought a lot of it was crap…yet seeing the guy you can tell he's natural born killer." Bronn remarked. "Guess nothing does faze you."

"If you only knew." Geralt muttered with a small smirk, making sellsword give a questioning look for a moment. "No need to worry. I don't plan to make an enemy of Lord Tywin…although Gregor already sees me as one."

"Nearly every warrior you've met has been like that towards you." Tyrion chuckled as he'd move for one of the empty chairs opposite of the Witcher. "Overall I can say if anyone can match up to the Mountain it be you or perhaps the Hound if he has the will to face him. Most of the nobility are betting against you mainly because they underestimate your skill."

"Not surprising. They always do with anyone not noble born."

"Which is why I'm counting on you. I put half of my personal fortune towards you making it through the Melee and then the follow up matches. If you win we'll easily triple in earnings."

"Double for me." Bronn chuckled. "So you best not fuck up Geralt otherwise you'll have to deal with me unless Gregor is he doesn't kill you first." Thankful the sellswords tone was friendly enough to not make his words sound like a threat…or at least Geralt hoped so.

Before anyone could say anything else there was the sudden blaring fanfare of horns in the distance. Geralt, Tyrion and Bronn headed outside of the tent to see the pages and knights were hurrying towards main road leading into the tourney grounds, no doubt to look presentable to their King and the royal court. The group decided to follow along yet hanged back to not get any unwanted attention. Soon they could see the waving flags of House Baratheon, a yellow banner with a black stag rearing upward. Half of the King's Guard were leading the royal march, the front rider being an older yet fit gentleman with short white hair and beard. He did remember seeing the man often talking and training with the King's Guard, who overall respected and obeyed his command.

"Ser Barristan Selmy." Tyrion muttered to Geralt. "Lord Commander of the King's Guard and most honored of the order. His skill and chivalry was considered second only to Arthur Dayne, although many feel age has dulled his fighting prowess."

For a while Geralt studied the man, noting the calm way the Lord Commander nodded and softly smiled to knights who greeted him. However at the same time those sharp blue eyes were alert as for a moment the aged man noticed Geralt standing in the back of the gathered knights. However Selmy gave a small nod to the Witcher as he'd continue riding on, yet that short moment was all Geralt needed to know that the King's Guard leader was far from retiring.

"No…far from it." He muttered, making Tyrion give an odd look.

"Perhaps. Jaime has only praise and respect for the man considering Selmy trained him. No doubt grooming my brother to replace him when age takes him."

Geralt simply nodded as his attention was on Jaime who rode close alongside his mentor. He was dressed in his fine golden King's Guard armor which was polished to a blinding gleam. While he had that smug looking look on his face, Geralt could tell the Lannister was tense from his posture. Obviously the coming games had him eager to take part, yet he seemed more serious than usual.

The Witcher's attention shifted on to King Robert who followed behind his royal guard, drawing up cheers from the knights as he gave a quite booming laugh and waved to them, being the most lively the Witcher had ever seen outside of his drunken bouts during feasts. If anything Robert seemed like a proper king for the moment as the man took the time to even ride up to a few knights and lords he knew, shaking hands and quietly speaking to them.

Following close behind Robert was Eddard who had a small smile seeing his friend so active after so many weeks. Lord Stark would notice Geralt off to the side, giving a small nod to the Witcher as he'd continue leading the royal parade along. More members of the Small Council followed, the three being Renly, Petyr and Grand Maester Pycelle. Renly much like his brother was active going up to greet the knights yet Littlefinger kept to himself, only chatting with a few minor lords who he no doubt had connections and dealings with. Pycelle was the slowest of the group, the old man seeming more focused on trying to stay on his saddle then pander to the nobility.

Behind them rode Joffrey who had a smug grin seeing the gathered warriors greeting them. No doubt the prince's ego was being stoked, even if the attention was directed at his father rather than him. Sandor was following close behind the prince, dressed in full armor and his famous hound helmet which hid his face away, although considering how he didn't so much as glance to the crowd he seemed to have no interest acknowledging the knights.

Lastly was a red and gold painted carriage which had its windows panels opened up for the Queen Cersei, her younger children and Sansa to greet the knights. The Queen had a coy calmness with how she smiled and waved to the men while Sansa seemed nervous yet giddy seeing the knights. It was a nice to see the young lady enjoy a moment from all the stories she had heard, having brave knights fawning for her attention. Indeed he did notice a few of the younger men muttered and nodding to her, showing that the fair northern maiden was catch interest. Two other blond haired children peeked out the window, a boy and girl who Geralt had seen a few times at the Red Keep yet hadn't greeted. From what he knew these were Cersei's and Robert's younger children, Joffrey's siblings. He guessed Cersei was being quite protective of them considering he rarely had seen them away from her. Arya was also in the carriage, dressed in a mix of a dress and outdoors clothes she often wore. She looked casually over the crowd, seeming bored from no doubt having to spend an hour listening to her sister and Cersei chattering away. Geralt would wave to catch her attention, making the young girl's dull gaze snap to attention. She'd grin and wave back, her mood instantly improved seeing him.

The royal party headed for the royal stand, Robert being the first to reach his comfortable seat at the top space, with Cersei sitting beside him. Their children followed up, taking seats around their parents while the Hound stood behind Joffrey, silently guarding the royal family. Everyone else took any seat they wished, although the Starks all sat alongside each other with Eddard sitting between his daughters, most likely to prevent bickering between them. Lord Baelish and Pycelle sat behind Starks while Lord Renly sat back left of Baelish, no doubt to chat with him without intruding on the Starks space.

Not long after the group was seated, the knights and servants returned to their duties to prepare for the opening ceremonies. From the road though the commoners became to enter the tourney grounds, being directed by the City Watch to the stands and open space where they could sit. The city folk were quite excited from how they chattered, yet behaved well enough. A few did cheer and call out to Robert who'd chuckled and wave back, showing that his popularity wasn't exaggerated. Course from Geralt's experience everyone loved a war hero, even one who had long fallen out of his prime like Robert.

"Time for me to get to work." Tyrion muttered as he patted Geralt on the back. "You best ready yourself for the opening ceremony. Should be starting soon once the common folk have settled in."

The Witcher simply nodded in response as he watched the dwarf hurry off with Bronn following after him. Returning to his tent, Geralt took the time to double check his swords, deciding having his silver blade as a backup won't hurt. He doubted he'd need it, yet it was habit to carry it in more combative situations. However he did linger when it came to the Dragon Fang dagger. He didn't trust in leaving it at the Red Keep or his tent, not wanting some agent to steal it away. In the end, he strapped the blade to his hip, guessing it be safest with him and could become handy in a pitch.

Soon a signal horn was blown, the call for the contests of the tourney to gather up. Geralt was quick to follow the call as he and the many other knights and warriors began to line up before the stands. The Witcher avoided standing too close to the Mountain who stood in the center of the lineup. One warrior that stood out beside the Mountain was a bald older fellow dressed in red scarlet robes with chainmail under it along with plated leggings and boots. He was the fattest of the gathered warriors and most relaxed considering the cheery grin he had.

"Thoros of Myr." A young male voice spoke up, getting Geralt's attention to his right. Beside him was a young man with long curly brown hair and fair tan colored eyes. He was dressed in the most lavished armor Geralt has seen yet, gleaming steel plate stylized with jeweled flowers on breastplate and shoulders. Even the silvery white cloak had white roses weaved into it, making it a very extravagant piece from considering. "An odd looking man for sure, yet appearances can be deceiving."

"Heard he's a mad man brawler who favors swinging a flaming sword into battles." Geralt commented. "Yet you…hmm…guessing from flowers and fine armor you're from Highgarden. A Tyrell?"

"Heh, you've guessed correct my friend." The young knight chuckled before holding out a gauntleted hand which Geralt shook. "Loras Tyrell, third born of Mace Tyrell."

"Geralt of Rivia. Adviser and bodyguard for Lord Stark, the Hand of the King." He answered back. "I've heard a bit about you in my studies. Quite renown for your jousting prowess from what I've learned."

"My skills as a knight are the pride of my House for sure. Highgarden may not have a proud history of warriors like the Starks or of leading armies like the Lannister's yet we have always been renowned for our chivalry and elegance." Loras answered back. "I can say I've heard a bit of you since arriving to King's Landing. The white haired stranger from beyond even Essos, a man who faced the Hound fearlessly. If anything it's rare for an outsider to get such praise and trust-"

However a horns interrupted the young knight, making both him and Geralt snap their attention to the royal stand as Robert stood up from his seat. The large man gaze drifted the gathered men before speaking deeply out. "All of you are the finest knights and champions the Seven Kingdoms has to offer. From the old and veteran to the young and gifted. Battle is what you live for and even in times of peace it has its uses." His hand gestured out to the other stands where the commoners cheered, the lined warriors all turning to face them. "Today you fight for them. To remind them that when war comes you'll be there to protect them." A broad grin crossed the King's face. "So show us your fighting spirit! Give us a grand show of your prowess!"

The men clapped, a few cheered at the King's short yet inspiring speech. Geralt had to admit he didn't expect one from the man, making him wonder if Eddard had pressured Robert to be proactive during the tournament. He may have well wrote the speech considering, yet he wouldn't put that credit aside just yet.

Once Robert had sat down, Eddard shifted to stand from his seat, making everyone quiet down. "As our good King has said, it is an honor for you all to come so far for these next few days. Indeed, we've had a long peace, twenty years of it which we are thankful for every single day." He'd pause for a moment as the crowds gave short cheers and mutters of agreement. "This tournament is meant to honor me for becoming our King's Hand. Yet I feel it is unjust to have it so…"

The statement drew a few confused looks, especially from Robert who shifted forward in his seat. Cersei and Baelish had curious looks, wondering what Lord Stark was getting at.

"I dedicate this tournament not in my honor but to you." He'd gesture to the gathered warriors yet also to the commoners crowded across the field. "To the men who dutifully protect us and to the honest folk who strive hard in life." The declaration drew a joyous cheer from the commoners, yet Eddard continued to speak. "For the duration of the games, fresh food and fine drink will be freely given. It is time the people enjoy the rewards of peace and prosperity for these fruitful years of unity."

Already the commoners seemed eager to take up on Ned's generosity as people stood up from where they sat. At this point Tyrion would step out from the nearby tents, moving to the center of the field to draw everyone's attention. Already the citizens were muttering when they saw the dwarf, taking note of his fine clothes and golden hair as mutterings of 'Lannister' and 'imp' silently echoed through the air. Tyrion however didn't let the whispers get to him as he'd give a formal smile and short bow. "Ladies…Gentlemen…I know you are all eager to enjoy Lord Stark's generous offer, yet as Master of the Tourney it is my duty that we keep things orderly." Soon city watch filed around, seeming ready to direct the crowds to some nearby tents. "The Watch will show you to the tents were you can get food and drink. However I ask that you don't take long since the first event will be beginning shortly, the archery competition. We have some fine competitors from across and beyond the Kingdoms, so this is something you will not want to miss.

The masses seemed quite surprised by the dwarf's polite and friendly manners as he'd give an order to one of the guard captains, who'd begin leading the eager commoners to the food tents. Soon people were enjoying fresh meat, bread, pastries and ale as any early lunch. Geralt was surprised with how organized the people were, half expected a bit of brawling or hording, yet they seemed to respect the nobles for this unique kindness.

"Now then good knights and warriors. May I ask all except those taking part in archery to leave the field?"

The men dispersed from the line, moving to the sidelines of the field, returning to their tents or even taking an empty seat among the royal stands. Geralt moved for the stands, noticing how Ned had Arya holding a seat for him set between them. "Talk to you later Ser Loras. Try to relax while you can."

"Heh I plan to. Until next time Ser Geralt." The youthful knight gave a respectful bow before moving for his tent, yet for a moment paused to wave at the royal stand. The Witcher glance across the seats, noticing Renly having a small smile as he'd wave back to the young Tyrell before he continue towards his tent.

Geralt guessed the two were friends, yet didn't think too much on the matter as he'd walk through the royal stands and towards the Stark's seats. Moving up the steps, he'd noticed Tywin had joined with his family, having changed out of his armor to a plain yet fine nobleman's outfit. Sitting close by Cersei, the two quietly speaking, although pausing a bit when they noticed him. Geralt didn't react as he'd move along, slipping by towards the Stark's

Sansa gave a small nod to him as he shifted pass her while Arya shifted from her seat to an empty one just next to her so Geralt could sit next to her father.

"Quite the speech you made there. Took quite a few people by surprising." Geralt remarked once he sat down.

"Had a lot of free time to think over and prepare it." Ned chuckled. "Have to make a good impression with the commoners, assure them I'll be a just Hand of the King. Besides after this tournament I doubt there will be any as large as this for many years."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "Going to be hard keeping Robert in line considering his habits. Did you convince him to do that little opening speech?"

"He did that himself. Perhaps he realizes he needs take active role if he wants me to follow any requests…I guess you can say it's a step towards compromise between us."

"And that compromise is involving dealing with Daenery's?" Geralt said in a hushed voice.

Ned's expression hardened slightly. "As I said…steps to compromise." He was silent, hinting that topic was finished. "Point is this is meant to be a day promoting peace and unity, even if it is shaky at times. You know how important that is."

Geralt thought back to his home, of how the Northern Realms had crumbled into bickering and senseless wars, leaving them weak for Nilfgaard. If anything the Seven Kingdoms had become far more successful, even if he could see the cracks and divides. "I do." He simply muttered before feeling Arya tug at his arm.

"Look, the Im- I mean Lord Tyrion is going to speak again." She quickly whispered.

The dwarf once more walked onto the field, everyone quieting down after a moment. Looking about between the different stands and crowds, Tyrion gave a small charming smile before speaking. "Now that everyone is settled in, I think it's time we get this tournament started."

On que, ten men armed with bows and quivers marched out onto the field. One of men was King's Guard member, a broad and muscular man, who had changed out of his plate armor for near golden tanned leather while the rest of the men were a more plain mix. A few were rather plain, seeming more like hunters or infantry bowmen. However one man did stand out to even the fine dressed King's Guard, a dark skinned man who reminded Geralt of a Zerrikanian. He was dressed in a yellow leather and half scale armor with a colorful green and red feathered cape. Even his bow was more ornate then the others, being made of a light green wood and having artistic carvings along it.

"Ten of the finest archers in the land. While the art of jousting and melee are honorable skills to master, to perfect the art of marksmanship requires much more." The dwarf paced about the lined archers. "I'm certain most could shoot clearly say…twenty so paces. Yet what at fifty and beyond? These men have the keen eye and discipline to hit their targets in the most stressful of situations and thus puts them in a whole league of their own." He'd gesture to the far end of the field. "The contest is simple. Scoring based on distance and target. The final three will then take part in a special challenge of skill and a final scoring to determine the winning champion!"

The crowd clapped and muttered eagerly as Tyrion directed the archers down to the shooting field, each man choosing a target and distance before they began shooting. For the next hour, Tyrion gave casual commentary, giving grand praise for good shots and light hearted jests to mishaps which drew amused chuckles. Geralt casually watched, only noting the King's Guard and the feather caped man who were both quite skilled, yet as the other archers were picked off, one young freckled man with light brown hair had ended up among the final three.

"Very interesting. I give you our top three archers!" Tyrion approached the King's Guard knight, patting the strong man on the arm. "Balon Swann, stalwart and dutiful knight in service to the King!"

He'd move onto feathered caped archer. "Jalabhar Xho, prince of Red Flower Vale and rightful heir to the exotic Summer Isles." The dark skinned man bowed, seeming pleased with the respect Tyrion showed.

"And lastly we have…" He'd pause as he'd quickly speak to the freckled archer for a moment. "Anguy…the archer! Bowman of the Dornish Marches!" Seemed the dwarf had be a little creative giving the common born man an interesting title in comparison to his competitors.

"These men will shoot from the farthest distance at one hundred paces! Whoever scores the most will win the prize of ten thousand gold dragons! A small fortune indeed." Balon kept a calm look, while Xho had a serious look show on his face. Anguy lightly licked his lips eagerly, no doubt imagining the luxuries he could buy with such wealth.

"However I promised a special challenge for them. There is no prize for winning it, only to show their skills even further." Tyrion paused for a moment, building up tension. "Now…what if I told you that I met a man who could block an arrow?" For a moment no one spoke, a few chuckles filling the air, yet Tyrion shrugged. "Ah right…I'm certain many of our knights could block an arrow with a shield, yet what of batting it out of the air with his blade?" A few more chuckles filled the air, yet curious mutterings mixed in as well. "You see, when I was visited the far north months ago and in my travels was ambushed by raiders, Wildlings who had snuck into our lands." Boos followed, curses and insults sent to the savages. "My companions and I did not see them at first. An archer tried to pick me off from the shadows, an arrow aimed for my skull. However much to my own shock, one man lunged into action, slapping the missile out of the air and to strike harmlessly to the ground."

Already Geralt knew it was his moment now as he'd shift in his seat, glancing to Arya and whispering. "Watch closely, you may learn something." She had a confused look before he'd get up from his seat and moving to leave the stands, giving a small nod to Ned who seemed curious on what was about to happen.

"You may doubt my story, call it simply a tall tale or lie…yet it is true for the man who saved me is right there!" He'd point to Geralt just as he left the stand, drawing hundreds of gazes towards him as he'd stroll out onto the field. "I give you Geralt of Rivia, a traveler from distant lands beyond even Essos! He is a Witcher, a member of an ancient order of warrior monks who are protectors of the road and slayer of fierce beasts that trouble the land." By now Geralt reached the trio of archers, shaking hands and formally greeting them.

"I hope Tyrion isn't jesting Ser Geralt. I'd rather not put an arrow in you." Balon remarked in a concerned manner.

"Trust the man white cloak. There is something about him…yes…I can tell this will be interesting." Xho muttered, with a small grin.

"Eh…if he gets shot up then it his own fault." Anguy said dismissively. "Bet you ten crowns I'll put an arrow into his knee."

No one remarked on the young commoner's rude words, although Geralt's sharp eyes had the archer shift nervously when he glanced right at him.

A page holding a bundle of arrows approached the group, handing them five arrows each, which on closer inspection were dulled down to be blunted. "Training arrows? Heh guess they don't want any accidents." Anguy remarked as he'd tapped a finger at one of the arrow tips.

"Still leave a bruise maybe a cracked rib on a direct hit." Balon muttered before Tyrion spoke out again.

"Now, may I ask the archers to please stand by the targets? We will be shooting at sixty so paces, far enough to make this fair." Tyrion directed, which the men obeyed, each man taking a spot between the targets. "The rule are simple. Your goal is to hit Ser Geralt with what arrows you have. You may take turns or even fire together. Challenge the Witcher however you see fit."

Geralt stood in the men's firing line, smoothly drawing his fine steel blade and shifting into a defensive stance. For a moment Balon and Xho were hesitant, yet Anguy smirked as he'd suddenly draw his bow.

"I'll make this quick!"

The arrow went flying, sailing through the air, barely trackable for the bare human eye. Thankful Geralt's eyes weren't human as they easily followed the speedy arc of the arrow. With lightening quick reflexes, his blade swung through the air, the crack of it hitting the missile just being heard. For a moment there was silence as Anguy squinted his eyes as he tried to figure out what just happened.

Geralt shifted as he'd pick up the arrow he had just knocked out of the arrow, holding it up for the young man and crowd to see who gasped in shock before throwing it aside.

"W-What…No…no fucking way?!" Anguy growled out in disbelief before he'd readied another shot.

Xho drew his bow back as well as both of them fired after each other. Geralt's blade twisted and turned about, blocking Anguy's second shot, yet angling for a deflection this time. He was quickly to parry away Xho's arrow into the ground, yet as Anguy readied his third arrow, the man paused as he heard a thud to the target beside him, were his second arrow had just landed into. Soon Balon joined in, yet even with the three men firing at him the Witcher continued to block and deflect their arrows. More and more of their shots were being redirected, landing into the targets set beside the three men. The crowd was already cheering and wooting, support mixed towards the archers and Geralt.

However the men soon ran out of shots, much to Anguy's frustration as he cursed under his breath. The Witcher took a deep breath as he calm himself, adrenaline pumping through his body from the tense challenge. Sheathing his sword, he'd see the three men looking to the targets, realizing nearly half of their shots had been reflected back towards them.

Tyrion stepped back onto the field, a quite smug grin on his face. "Believe me now? I doubt you will find any other man in the world who can accomplish this!"

Cheers filled the air, the people openly amazed by the impossible feat. Geralt glanced to the royal stands to see Arya was cheering eagerly while Ned had an amazed yet impressed look on his face as he clapped along. Sansa and Cersei looked baffled, unsure what they had just seen before their very eye. Lord Baelish seemed oddly nervous as Renly was muttering something with an amused smirk on his face. King Robert and Joffrey was on their feet, a wide grins on their faces as they clapped and cheered loudly. Tywin though remained seated, clapping respectful yet his face hinted that he was impressed at the amazing display of skill.

"You will see more of Geralt here during the Melee. For this is a man who battled a dozen Wildlings singlehandedly without getting so much of a scratch! Let's not be too distracted though, we have a competition to finish and a joust to follow up afterwards!"

The trio of archers approached Geralt, although Anguy didn't speak with the Witcher as he seemed too frustrated and disbelieving over what happened.

"You are far from an ordinary warrior Witcher." Xho chuckled. "I cannot explain it…yet I never imagined a man to send a marksman arrow back at him."

"Thankfully not right at us." Balon remarked. "Just how in the hells did you do it?"

"Trade secret and a lot of practice. Trust me, I've taken my share of arrows to the side over the years mastering that move." Geralt answered back. "Yet I can say you're all skilled archers and you shouldn't let this discourage you."

"No…if anything this encourages me!" Xho smirked. "I will have to hone my skill more if I am to best someone like you."

"Hopefully you won't met anyone else like me…" The words had the two feel a bit nervous, wondering just how dangerous Geralt truly was. However the Witcher gave a short bow to them both before returning to the royal stands.

"Archers! Let us begin the final test! One hundred paces please." Tyrion spoke out as they'd resume the competition.

Reaching his seat, Geralt sighed as he sat down before Arya quickly spoke up. "That…I…it was just like your dueled with Syrio's! I mean…more of how quickly you moved."

"I can say I'm at a loss for words Geralt." Ned chuckled, shaking his head. "If I didn't know you I'd claim you used some kind of trick, yet considering how fast you are I can only imagine you pulling off such a feat."

"Prefer only using that technique only when it's needed. A lot less risky when I can just dodge a shot." Geralt remarked back before glancing to Arya. "And I know what you're thinking…no I'm not going to teach you that move. Far too dangerous for you."

The girl sighed before nodding, yet seemed to understand the Witcher's reasons. Everyone's attention focused back to the competition as the three archers took difficult shots at their targets from quite the far distance. Despite the frustration Anguy had shown, the young man seemed more driven then distracted as he landed bullseye after bullseye, outmatching his opponents.

"It seems we have a winner! In an impressive show of skill, I proclaim Anguy of the Dorn Marshes archery champion!" The dwarf shook hands with the young man whose scowl was now a grin as the dwarf chatted with him before handling him a sizable purse of gold. It was certain Anguy was going to be paying a long visit to the Street of Silk to waste away his prize money. He'd give a small wave to the crowd and hurry off the field, disappearing into the nearby crowd of tents.

"A fine show yes? However I feel our other knights deserve some attention…so let us begin the joust!" On his declaration, horns trumpeted as from the two ends of the jousting field the different knights from before filed out. It was quite the display as each rider was dressed uniquely from Gregor's gruff yet effective iron plate, Jaimie's shining golden royal armor and Lora's artistic silvery steel. All of them carried the flag of their House or other heraldry in a small parade before the crowds.

"This will be interesting." Geralt muttered to Ned who nodded in agreement. He'd have to pay close attention to each knight, since he'd be facing them in the Melee tomorrow, that they didn't get too badly injured during the jousting.

…

For the next few hours the knights jousted across the field in a grand show of skill, entertaining the commoners and nobility alike. Geralt took the time to relax, casually chatting with Ned and his daughters, sharing a bit of commentary with his combat experience on how well the men preformed on the field. While he never jousted, he understood the rules and skill required to properly compete. The first half of the jousting was normal enough, with a few injuries yet nothing serious. Four riders so far stood out from the most being the Clegane brothers, Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell. They seemingly outmatched everyone with the Cleganes often using their brute strength to dismount others in a single while Jaime and Loras put more finesse to their technique.

However things got grim quickly with Clegane's second match with the Mountain going against the late Jon Arryn's former squire, Hugh of the Vale. The joust started off normally as the men made their first charge, both missing the other's shield. However the second charge ended with a hit this time as Gregor made a sudden lunge at the upper right corner of the man's shield. The lance shattered against it, the resounding crack drawing gasps as both riders passed, yet Hugh lost balance on his saddle. A few people stood up to see what was wrong, Geralt becoming among them as his sharp eyes quickly noting the man's wound.

A massive splitter was stuck in the man's throat, thick blood oozing around it and while more was filling into his mouth. Hugh's struggled to breathe as he began choking on his own blood, a gory sound gasping from his gasping lips as he tried to cling to life. Glancing to the Starks he saw pure shock on Arya's and Sansa's faces as they helplessly watched a man die before them. Eddard had a grim look, as he noticed his children's horrified looks, making him gently hold Sansa's hand as he muttered something to her.

"Why…why doesn't someone help him?" Arya muttered as Hugh garbled on what air he had left, soon becoming still.

"There was nothing that could be done." Geralt muttered, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder as she glanced away from the dead knight as pages hurried out to drag his corpse away. "I'm sorry you had to see something like that."

Arya was silent, only nodding back as she seemed to calm herself after the sudden shock.

The Witcher glanced back to the field, noting how the Mountain rode along as if nothing had happened. No one dared stop or challenge him, too fearful after that gruesome scene.

"As cruel as his reputation says." Littlefinger muttered, leaning in to speak with Geralt and Ned. "Always a death comes by his hand during a tourney, as if he needs one just to sate himself."

"He's a brute yes…but not a stupid as he seems." Geralt answered back, drawing a questioning look from Baelish. "He knew what he was doing. The way he targeted Hugh's shield meant any broken lance would have pierced the man's neck since the armor is more exposed on that side. Was at least a fifty fitty chance."

"You're that certain?" Ned asked, yet he'd note how Geralt tapped the side of his head to remind the Lord of his cat like eyes.

"It was a calculated move. Murder by mishap."

Baelish had a small grin on his face, impressed by the Witcher's deduction. "Tell me Geralt, have you ever wondered why the Clengane brothers hate each other so? You'd think the two be well bonded for their love for battle."

Geralt didn't answer at first, yet he'd shrug. "Fine…I'm curious to know."

"Can say few know the truth of the Clengane siblings divide only that it traces back to their childhood. Sandor was little more than six when it happened while his older brother was busy honing his skill for violence. One day Gregor comes home to find his brother playing his a wooden knight, his knight. So without a word he grabs young Sandor by the neck and shoves his face into the burning coals of the fireplace, melting half his brother's face without so much of a care."

For a moment the Witcher couldn't help but imagine that scene as he'd glance at Sandor who currently stood by the royal family. While the man had his hound helm visor, he could thatthat Sandor knew his brother had intentionally killed Hugh. He could imagine the mixed feelings the Hound felt for the Mountain, the fear yet anger for having his childhood ruined and his face forever scarred by that fire.

"Sounds like a monster…" Geralt muttered Gregor rode off for his tent, yet already the Witcher felt a pent of fierceness stirring within him. It had been too long since he killed a monster…

…

The rest of the jousting tournament went along normally as Gregor, Sandor, Jaime and Loras came out as the finalists. The first round between Jaime and Sandor was quite an exciting one as the Hound held nothing back against the Lannister knight. Jaime however fought boldly against the brutal warrior, doing faster charges and risky lunges with his lance. In the end though while neither dismounted the other, Sandor scored just slightly better than Jaime, leading to his victory.

"So much for the King Slayer." Arya muttered, having expected the Lannister to have won.

"A lot more aspects to a joust then a duel. Bad luck can make the best rider loose despite all their experience." Geralt remarked back. "Any battle can change in such a way, which is why you must always be aware and adaptive on a moment's notice."

The girl nodded before looking back to the jousting field as the last semi-final match began. Ser Loras rode by the royal stands, passing before the Starks. Nearing the Witcher, he'd catch on odd scent from the man's horse, one that was a bit familiar although he didn't question it just yet. The young knight had been doing so every match, always offering a white rose to one of the young ladies or maidens in a charming display for the crowds. This time though he had a red rose in hand as he'd stop before Sansa, offering it out to her with a charming smile. For a moment the girl seemed stunned, a small blush on her face before she accepted the rose.

"Thank you Ser Loras." She sounded a bit flustered, almost making Geralt wonder if the girl would faint from the chivalrous gesture.

With his gift give, Loras gave a small bow yet for a moment his gaze drifted upward along the stands before riding up to be alongside Gregor. Glancing back, Geralt noted how Renly watched Loras, almost a concerned look on his face as the handsome young man was dwarfed by the imposing Mountain. After a moment Robert nodded to both to begin their joust, yet Gregor's horse neighed and snouted, making the large man struggle a bit to direct his warhorse to his side of the field.

"Quite the riled up horse." Ned muttered.

"It's because of Loras mount." Geralt answered back. "It's a mare, a strange choice for jousting. Not as strong or durable as a steed. Yet it has a musk about it…it's in heat."

"Keen observation Witcher or rather a sharp nose." Littlefinger chuckled. "A lot of gold is on line for these final few matches. An underhanded move, yet a smart one.

Everyone became silent as both men had taken up their lances and Loras donned extravagant styled helmet. Geralt could hear Sansa muttering to her father, clinging to his arm as she seemed worried for the knight although Ned was quick to assure her. He had to agree with Lord Stark since so far Loras skill easily matched up against Gregor's cunning brutality. Soon the trumpet was sounded and both men charged, going at full speed at the start. However Gregor's warhorse was unfocused as the giant of a man struggled to keep the powerful animal under control, leaving him exposed for Loras lance. A direct hit was made at the center Mountain's shield, strong enough to make the weapon shatter and roughly stagger the iron clad knight.

Between the force of the blow and Gregor's own weight, he and his horse tumbled to the side as the man fell onto the jousting barrier, crushing the wood as if they were made of twigs. Gasps and cheers filled the air as Loras rode up before the royal stand, bowing low to Robert who clapped eagerly. However Geralt's attention was on the Mountain who was quick to stand up, throwing his helmet off in anger to reveal his face at last. He was rather gruff looking as expect, having large head and short cut hair in a classic soldiery styling.

"Sword!" He yelled out, making a page hurry off for his tent. Despite his cry, no one else noticing, being too distracted by Loras.

"Ned…" Geralt warned, tensing up as he knew something was wrong.

The page returned, carrying the Mountain's massive sheathed blade which the man quickly drew out. With a roar Gregor swung his blade down at his steed's neck, slicing cleaning through thick muscle and bone as he decapitated the horse with one blow. All cheering stopped as a few horrified yells escaped from the crowds, making Loras turn about to see the shocking scene…and the Mountain rushing in at him. The young knight was quick to get his jousting shield up, blocking the massive sword yet bashing him off the side of his horse and fall roughly to the sandy ground. Despite the dazing fall, Loras was quick to roll onto his back and grasp the shield in both hands, blocking another blow which nearly split the shield apart.

At this point instinct kicked in for Geralt as he stood up, ignoring Ned who spoke out to him. Quickly he rushed out of the stands, steel sword drawn as he'd get between the Mountain and Loras. "Leave him-" He started as he grasp his sword in both hands, block the next incoming attack. However another sword clashed with Gregor's massive blade, making Geralt glance to the side as he realize Sandor had stepped in as well.

"-be?" Both muttered, a bit surprise at how the other hand blindly rushed in to Loras defense. For a moment both men were distracted, yet snapped to attention with Gregor growled out, pulling his sword back from their locked blades, swinging his sword horizontal at their chests. Both dodged back to avoid the long reach of the large weapon before lunging to counter attack. The air rang with steel striking steel as Gregor struggled to fight back against the two skilled warriors. Geralt couldn't deny that the Mountain was insanely strong as every blow he blocked stressed his arms. He remembered why he was taught to avoid blocking a monster's blows since such attacks were too powerful to defend against safely, even with his enhanced strength. The clash went out for a few moments, adrenaline driving them all on to fight more fiercely. Small chants and cheers came from the commoners, calling out 'Wolf' and 'Hound' as the Mountain perhaps for the first time in his life faced real equals.

"Stop this madness in the name of your King!" Robert roared out, enough to make even Geralt glance towards him.

The booming command suddenly made Sandor stop in mid-swing as he suddenly dropped to one knee before the royal stand, sword braced into the sand. Gregor however didn't stop himself as he swung downward at his brother, sword aimed for the Hound's neck. For a moment Sandor glanced up, realizing his fatal mistake as the sword neared only for it to be stopped as Geralt's sword blocked it. Growling, the Witcher shoved back with all his might, the massive man stagger a few steps away with a surprised look at the sudden burst of strength. Hateful eyes met the Witcher who gave a death stare, one that would make anyone else flinch in fear yet for the Mountain he didn't so much as blink.

"Leave." Geralt muttered as Gregor threw his blade into the sand, growling in anger as he'd glance between the two men and Robert who scowled back in anger. He'd march off the field for the tents despite the city guard stood in his way, although the men seemed ready to piss themselves considering the shaky looks they had.

"Let him go!" Robert ordered, making the men quickly step aside. Considering their looks of relief, they seemed thankful for the King's quick order.

Geralt sighed as he catched his breath, calming down as he'd sheath his sword while Gregor shifted to stand. The Witcher saw Loras get up, the young knight having crawled away to escape the clash between the three warriors. He seemed winded yet uninjured as he'd stand before both men, glancing between them with a thankful look on his face.

"I owe you my life Sers." His tone was deeply respectful despite the few words said, making both Sandor and Geralt glance oddly about as if expecting some real knights to be behind them.

"I'm no Ser." Geralt and Sandor both said, much like the moment the two had locked blades with Gregor. Both looked at each other, annoyance showing on the Hound's face as he seemed ready to snap some insult at the Witcher.

"Please…I know you two have a rivalry, yet you've just showed you can put that aside when needed." Loras quickly pleaded before turning to face the crowd. "However I can honor you both! I give Sandor Clegane honor and prize of the joust and Geralt of Riva the favor of House Tyrell. Let their bravery be praised this day!" Grasping an arm from both of them, he raise them up high into the air as the crowd cheering loudly for the two gruff heroes. Sandor glanced aside, seeming embarrassed with the praise while Geralt felt out of place being in the limelight. After a long moment of cheering, Loras let go of their arms, giving Sandor a chance hurry away as he seemed eager to escape the crowds' attention.

"That was unneeded…even if it was honorable of you." Geralt muttered to Loras.

"Yet it is the right thing to do. If anything I'm embarrassed I let that brute surprise me so…"

"I'll admit I'm impressed you were able to block such blows. You're a lot tougher then you look."

"I did say before appearances can be deceiving." The young knight jested as he'd pat the Witcher on the back before two pages hurried forward to check up on him. "Yet I meant what I said Geralt. If you ever need it, House Tyrell will glad aid you however it can." He'd quickly chat to his page, assuring the boy that he was alright as he'd be head for his tent.

By this point Tyrion would hurry out onto the jousting field, looking at Geralt in a quite dumbfounded manner. "First your face the Hound, then you blindly clash with the Mountain. You really must be brave or stupid…" He muttered, although a joking grin crossed his face. "Either way you amaze me once more Geralt." Turning to the crowd, he spoke up to them. "An unforeseen turn of events! While Ser Loras and Sandor were to joust, it seems the honorable Tyrell had conceded the prize to the Hound. We have seen an historic event my friends, a true show of courage and chivalry!" By now Geralt hurried off the field while Tyrion gave his grand speech, a fitting distraction to slip away back to his tent.

…

He could hear the crowd cheering on a bit more as it seemed Tyrion had some side events going, no doubt mock duels or jousting feats to make up for the last match being canceled. Taking the time to change out of his armor and set his sword's aside, he'd hear Ned speak up the tent entrance.

"May I come in?"

Geralt didn't answer at first, yet gave a sigh. "Of course Lord Stark…" He muttered before Eddard entered.

"You know that was crazy what you did. The Hound I can understand yet Gregor…"

"Yes I know. I'm most likely going to hear that for weeks." The Witcher grumbled as he'd move over to one of the cabinets the tent had, storing a mix of bottles ales and wines. He carelessly picked one bottle and two cups, filling them up before fitting down at the table. "Just instinct to rush in like that. Wasn't going to let the Mountain kill anyone else today."

"Sandor seemed to have had it under control." Ned remarked as he moved for an empty seat, picking up his cup of wine before drinking it. "Always thought the Hound was fearful of his brother, yet the fierceness he showed proved otherwise."

"He would have been too slow. Loras would have been cleaved before he reached him." Geralt plainly argued.

"Even so, you've definitely shown Tywin, Robert…hells half the nobility of Westeros what your capable of. Forget rumors from months back, people are realizing that you're far above even the best known warriors of our time…"

"I can only hold back so much Ned. Decades of experience is hard to keep in check when a monster like him is attacking." He'd take a deep drink from his cup, sighing as he'd shake his head. "Doesn't matter. I understand your concern but I can handle whatever new intrigue or challenges came come up."

Ned chuckled nervously. "That what worries me. You handle this so casually. I'd be a stressful wreak in your shoes."

"If you live as long as me, you'll find little will surprise you…well it shouldn't." The Witcher smirked a bit. "Worries and jests aside, I think we need to talk about the Lannister's. Lord Tywin's arriving complicates things."

Eddard nodded in agreement. "He's not a man to be taking lightly. Cunning, manipulative and controlling in every degree. After you left the field he was quick to ask me about you, having heard of how we found you in the far North. I could tell he doesn't buy the story of you being beyond Essos."

"I'll even admit it's a weak excuse. Course, just saying I fell through a hole in the sky from another world wouldn't be any better though."

"True…I can only warn you be careful with what you share about yourself. He can find faults and weaknesses in others better than most."

Geralt simply nodded as he'd refill his cup, taking a deep drink from it. "Do you think he is involved with our investigation? Connected to Jon Arryn and the attack on Brann?"

"With Arryn I'm unsure yet with Brann I know he wasn't involve. If he knew he'd most likely turn whoever did it just to win my favor and trust…which he'd earn considering."

"Wouldn't go that far…"

"Maybe…yet I'll admit Geralt I'm tired of snooping and hiding this. I'd like nothing more than to up front with Robert on what we know and confront the Lannister's or all of the royal court if it meant getting the truth!" Ned remarked back sternly. "You may find this normal yet for me…"

"I know Ned. If anything I'd like nothing more than to have done this all on my own, yet that has long past." Geralt calmly stated. "I know we're close to a break through…and it all comes down to whatever Arryn saw in Gendry."

"The boy has that much importance?"

"Considering someone with a lot of influence and wealth has securing his future…yes. Yet there must be something more that Arryn noticed. You didn't find anything new over the last few days have you?"

Ned paused, thinking for a bit. "I did question Grand Maester Pycelle on Jon's death. Should have questioned the Maester sooner since he had quite a few hidden details to share." He'd pause, taking a deep breath. "Jon didn't die to natural causes but to poison. Tears of Lys, a quite rare and deadly poison that is very hard to trace."

"Is that why the details of it are so recent?"

"Pycelle claims so. He had taken…samples from Jon when he examined him before and after his passing. I'd like to hope the Maester's words are true."

"Hm…maybe I'll pay him a visit this evening. Haven't had much of a chance to speak with him since arriving to the city. Here at the tournament I'll be able to be a bit more discrete."

"Be mindful still." Ned warned before finishing his drink. "There is going to be a lot of eyes on you for the next few days. I'm certain tomorrow the crowds will be doubled just to see the Melee." Eddard stood up from his seat before moving to leave. "I'd wish you luck for tomorrow…yet I know better. I have a feeling that despite the odds you will win."

Geralt smirked at the man's serious show of confidence, giving a small nod of thanks back before Eddard left the tent. Finishing the second cup of wine, Geralt stood up and stretched a bit before moving to the entrance flap of the tent. Peeking outside he could see things had calmed down outside as the commoners were busy filing out of the tournament grounds and returning to the city. The mix of entertainment and free meals had the masses quite happy as everyone was directed back to the main road leading to King's Landing. However he could see that around his tent there was a small group of knights and nobles milling around, acting casual chatting about yet always glancing toward his abode.

"Right…rather avoid that." He'd shift back inside and the Dragon Fang as he'd move to the very back of the tent, cutting a short opening low to the ground, enough for him to couch through. Squeezing through the opening, he'd keep to the shadows the setting sun cast as he'd quickly walk around the back ends of the tents.

"Now then…the Maester's…" It take forever to check every tent and in turn draw attention to him. He'd be still as he'd take a deep breath and focus his senses, mainly his hearing. The many echoing sounds of chattering voices, laughing, clanging armor and neighing horses became nearly deafening, yet he'd shut out the loader noises as he looked for one certain sound. Soon he detected it, the ratter of chains coming from a smaller tent set close by to the King's royal pavilion. "Found you."

Sneaking between the tents, he'd avoid the main pathways as he'd reach the Grand Maester's private tent. When the coast was clear, he'd slip inside without anyone noticing. In tent while small was packed with a mix of alchemical and medical supplies. No doubt much of this were for emergencies during the tournament or for any dire needs for the King. Geralt noticed the old man busy at one of the work tables, working some mixing apparatus and muttering to himself, perhaps some formula. Oddly the man's posture was different from before, the old man standing up straight and quite strongly as he worked.

"Grand Maester?"

Speaking up had the man give a small startled gasp, his stance shifting to a more slumped and shaky. The old man turned about, grasping something close to his robes yet relaxed when he saw the Witcher. "By the S-Seven Geralt! You should know better than sneak up on your elders like that…"

The remark was a bit amusing since Geralt knew very well he was the eldest in between the two of them. "I apologize for surprising you and for not having a proper discuss since I arrived here."

"Ah…n-no worries. You no doubt have many duties very L-Lord Stark. My own tasks have kept me quite busy as well…experiments, medical needs and so on…" He'd mutter onward. "I've gotten Ravens from the Maesters of the North. Luwin and Aemon. Both have praised your quite scholarly knowledge…claim it's that of a Maester's even."

Geralt shrugged as he'd pace around the tent, examining a few herbal samples and potions, recognizing most of them as he looked about. "Witcher's are more than just warriors. Need to be knowledgeable on a lot of subjects such history, alchemy and magical theory."

"Interesting. Yet while I'd enjoy d-debating and sharing knowledge, I feel you're here on a more important manner."

Geralt nodded as he'd face the old man, the calm cat like eye's having the Maester shift nervously. "It's about Jon Arryn. Ned told me you learned he was poisoned with a rare mixture."

"Oh…I…yes. Tears of Lys. Foul mixture indeed with some h-horrible yet subtitle symptoms." He'd shuffle to a nearby book, flipping through it and gesturing for the Witcher to come look. "The substance is a clear and tasteless fluid which one digested eats away at the stomach and bowels. Often d-deaths caused by it are attributed to natural sickness or a-age, unless proper tests are done."

"Tests that you preformed yes?"

"Of course! I consider myself an expert when it comes to err…poison. Many Maesters are against the study yet in service of the K-King it is needed."

"Understandable. I know a good my share of toxic mixtures as well." Geralt remarked back. "So does that mean the Red Keep as a poison storage?"

"I…well…yes." Pycelle nervously muttered. "You do understand poisons in the very small dosages can counter act certain illness and other poisons. Also with the uhh…samples I can better identify what poisons maybe involved if any…incidents happen."

Geralt nodded, the Maester's explanation logical enough so far. "I take only you have access to this dangerous storage?"

"Of course! I have the only key and knowledge to working the cabinet as well. Many of the mixtures are very reactive and proper handling is needed. If anyone among the court required access, they'd need to inform me and be have their request safely v-verified. I keep a very detailed log t-to ensure no wrong doing happens."

"Right…so how did Jon Arryn get poisoned then? Did you have the Tears in supply?"

"Of course not! The Tears is far too potent even in the smallest of doses for any medical needs. I have no idea how Lord Arryn was poisoned…no doubt someone outside the court."

However Pycelle's reaction was too quick and defensive. Either the man was over exaggerating or he was hiding something. "Are you certain about that?" Geralt shifted his left hand up, fingers quickly flexing into the Axii Sign. He hoped the Sign was strong enough as the old man blinked, a dizzy look crossing his eyes.

"I…perhaps we did get a small supply. It was an exotic gift from Essos…err…a trader or guest I think." The Maester muttered. "Should have poured it away…dangerous…even more when it was taken…"

Geralt gave an odd look at that last few words shared. "Taken? You mean stolen. When did this happen?"

However the Sign seemed to be wearing off as Pycelle shook his head and blinked rapidly. "Uhhh…light headed suddenly. What do you mean stolen…did I say something odd?" He seemed confused, yet was becoming more alert.

The Witcher was tempted to try Axii again, yet he wasn't sure if it was worth the risk since using the Sign multiple times on an individual in a short period made it easier to resist, along with the fact the magic was weak as it is. However before he could decide, he'd hear soft footsteps outside and the brushing of a long dress across the grass as someone entered the tent.

"Never mind. It was nothing Grand Maester…excuse me." Geralt turned to leave, feeling he'd question Pycelle later back at the Red Keep.

"Oh…uhh…very well." The old man sighed, shifting to sip something from a cup, giving a refreshed aside as the drink cleared his senses.

As Geralt neared the tent flap, he'd stop as Cersei stepped through, the woman pausing as she saw him. "Ser Geralt. I didn't expect you to be here." She calmly stated, being formal yet on guard in tone.

"Had to visit the Grand Maester on a personal matter. Herbs for my own potions." He simply yet politely answered back before bowing slightly to her. "I should return to my tent. Tomorrow will be a busy day after all." As he shifted to move pass her, he could feel her sharp gaze at his back as he'd step outside and move around the tent. However he didn't move on just yet as he linger by the tent, listening closely as Cersei approaching Pycelle.

"My Queen…what brings you in at this hour?"

"I need the usual medication Grand Maester…twice the dosage this time." The woman calmly stated.

"Double? That is much…yet I have enough in stock. Is that wise though...surely the King-"

"Robert does not need to worry on the matter. He is more…active of late and I'd rather not have any unwanted mishaps."

"Uhh…as you wish…" There was the soft clatter of vials as Pycelle seemed to find what was requested. "Remember. Small doses with drink. Take some before any uhh…love making or on a daily basis if signs of life stir within you. Overdosing could be…risky with the chance of infertility."

"I know the risks." Cersei was silent for a moment as she'd shift for the flap out of the tent. "Remember…not a word to Robert…"

Geralt stepped to the shadows as Cersei moved along, returning to the royal tents. Once she was out of sight, Geralt slipped away through the maze of tents and returned to his own, entering through the back opening he had made. Once alone, he'd give a small sigh as he'd think over what he had just overheard. It seemed Cersei was taking some mixture for pregnancy, mainly to prevent it and for quite a while from his understanding.

"Curious…" He muttered as he'd pace around the tent, packing away Dragon Fang with the rest of his gear in the nearby chest before doing to the comfortable cot set nearby. Already he a theory creeped into his head, something that seemed so obvious yet to crazy to be.

"What if they aren't his children?"

The implication was troubling…very troubling. However he couldn't let that distract him just yet as he'd take a deep breath, relaxing himself on the cot as he closed his eyes. He still have the Melee tomorrow and he was certain everyone taking part was going to be ganging up against him. Of course he had no plans holding back against such imposing odds. It was about time he cut loose for once…

…

 **Notice: Even in the middle of a tournament intrigue continues to play out! I hope this long chapter makes up for the minor delay and at least gets everyone pumped up for the Melee next chapter. I realized the other events and characters needed attention so the grand battle ahead can be played out properly. Anyway my birthday is this weekend, so things will be a bit slow, however I promise all this waiting will be worth it as Geralt truly shows Westeros what he is capable of.**


	18. S1-E17: Fury of the Melee

**Chapter 17: Fury of the Melee**

 **Forward: I'd like to thank Max00 and Rainsfere for their support. They helped by giving me advice and insight for the battles scenes on this lengthy chapter.**

…

As the first signs of the rising sun shined through the small openings of the tent, Geralt began to wake up at this early hour. Already there was a lot noise going around the tournament grounds as the servants and workers were busy getting the area prepared for the upcoming Melee. No doubt most of the knights and warriors involved were active, using the last few hours to steel themselves for the challenges ahead.

Despite the building tension he felt for the coming battle, Geralt's thoughts lingered on the mysterious information he had overheard between Cersei and Pycelle. Between the fact that the poison that had killed Jon Arryn had been stolen along with the queen seeming to be taken medication to prevent pregnancy from her husband. He wasn't certain if the two clues were linked together, though there must be some distant connection. What he needed was to question Pycelle further or speak to Cersei even for other clues.

"Have to watch every step from here on…" He muttered as he'd change into his armor, strap his swords on his back and slip Dragon Fang onto his belt. Heading outside, he'd see it was a quite welcoming morning with a cool overcast having creeped in from the nearby sea. His sharp nose could pick up the city stench off in the distance, the surrounding field and light woodland countered it to a degree. Moving across the small sea of tents, he headed to one of the private pavilions set up for the knights and nobility to eat and relax. The smell of fresh food had his stomach grumble, realizing he had missed out on dinner yesterday after his hasty retreat from Pycelle's tent.

Walking around the large shaded area, his gaze was set on a line of tables were cooks were busy getting spiced chicken, roasted pork, fresh bread and much more laid out for the nobility. Getting a plate, he'd fit as much food as possible before finding an empty table, although the whole time everyone nearby gave glances and muttered in low excited tones. He paid no mind as he began to eat, needing all the energy he could get for the day. While his mutations pushed his body beyond normal human limits, it in turn required more energy to perform more incredible feats. A few of his specialized potions did vitalize himself, though such mixtures were unpleasant to drink and left him hungry still.

"Space for another white hair?" Someone chuckled out, making Geralt glance up from his plate to see a familiar face from yesterday. Thoros gave big grin, a quite friendly one even if his teeth were a light red from over drinking wine. Like yesterday he wore his mix of red robes lightly stained with wine, chainmail and plate leggings

Geralt shrugged. "I see no harm."

Giving a pleased laugh, the boisterous man sat down across from the Witcher, setting his own plate along with a large goblet of red wine. "Many thanks then. We drifters must stick together after all…us few vagabond knights and roaming mercenaries." Quickly he'd dig in, being a bit sloppy with his eating as he took apart his whole chicken.

"For a drifter you've come far. All the way from Essos from the city of Myr yes?" Geralt questioned.

Thoros nodded with a small chuckle. "Really every city along the coast of Essos will proclaim itself the 'center of all trade', yet Myr's fertile lands give it an edge over all of them. Ah how I miss the wines from home." At the mention, he'd take a deep gulp from his goblet, giving out a sigh. "Thank the Lord of Light the order does not disallow the drink among the priesthood. Life be dull without such dulling pleasure."

"Lord of Light? Take that he's some patron god of yours."

"Aye. R'Hllor, God of Flame and Shadow among many other titles. The faith to the Red God stretches over much of Essos although the same can't be said for Westeros. Heh…main reason I'm here even."

"To peach the good lord's word and bring salvation to all?" Geralt remarked in a sarcastic manner.

Thoros smirked, amused by the jesting before giving a small shrug. "Eh…more or less. Came here decades back late during Aery's reign when he began his fire obsession. The priesthood saw him as someone favorable to covert and get a foothold here in the Kingdoms." However he'd sigh, stirring his goblet about in one hand. "Turned out he was just bloody insane though. Then came the Rebellion…got caught up in a few battles and next thing I know I've become Robert's drinking buddy."

"Most drifter tales often go that way. I know the feeling well enough."

"Glad you can relate!" The man chuckled, though his cheery smile faded slightly. "I'll admit those years were tough. Between the difficultly of spreading the Lord of Light teachings and the…horrors of the Rebellion…well…even a man like me was shaken by it all." He'd pause a bit, a serious look on his face. "Tell me. Do you plan to face Gregor, the Mountain, during the Melee?"

The sudden change of topic caught Geralt off guard, leaving him silent for a moment before nodding. "Yes." He simply answered.

"Why if I may so ask?"

Again the Witcher paused, lightly picking at his food. "Because someone has to."

The odd answer made Thoros tilt his head, expecting something more righteous as an answer. "What baffles me is why a stranger such as you cares. Gregor is little more than a force of destruction…a man none dare challenge out of fear."

"Sadly that's an emotion I've long lost." It was a falsehood, Geralt did fear for others, mainly those he cared for yet when it came to his own wellbeing nothing fazed him. "Back in my homeland there was always some war or conflict going around. I've seen dozens of Gregors' during my travels…men who take whatever they want through force and fear. The Mountain is simply a thug who was brutal and lucky enough to gain a false title. He may seem unstoppable…but all it takes is the right moves make that image crumble."

For a moment Thoros was silent, making the Witcher wonder if he had shaken the man. However the priest gave a low chuckle before bursting out with a loud laugh. "Ah! I knew it…you have the Lord's fire in you! The flame of fierce justice!"

The man's outburst snapped Geralt out of his serious mood, blinking a bit in confusion. "Not sure what you're getting at."

"Surely you see it? You have a makings of a real champion of the Red God."

By this point the Witcher understood what the man was getting at. He didn't blame the priest for his actions, feeling it was no doubt his fervor that guided his words. "I appreciate the offer, I decline. Never been much of a believer in any faith considering past experiences…" He decided to exclude the violent purging the Eternal Flame had been doing all across Northern Realms.

"Ah…that is sad news…" Thoros glanced aside. "Perhaps in time you'll consider hearing a bit of the Red God's teachings and reconsider?"

"Doubtful."

The priest sighed, giving a shrug before picking at the last of his food and gulping up his wine. "Either way you are a truly decent man Geralt, a rarity in this world." Shifting to stand. "Course…that won't stop me from giving that skull of yours a good cracking." An eager grin crossed the priest's face. "Another freedom of my order is we're no pacifists, considering our duty to enforce justice and order."

"None taken. Just don't be surprised when you meet your match on the field."

"Ha! I like that spirit! So blunt and confident!" Nodding, he'd pace away from the table. "Hold nothing back Geralt. Its time men like us show these knights how battle really is!" His loud voice had those mentioned knights around the pavilion glaring and muttering in annoyance. However Geralt understood the priest's goal, trying to rile the men up with his remarks. "I'll see you on the field Witcher! May the Lord's light guide you!" With that he'd hurry out from the pavilion, escaping the men who seemed eager to brawl the red robed priest right then and there.

"Quite the eccentric…" Geralt muttered, shaking his head as he'd finish up his meal and leave the dining area. For now he'd stroll along the tents until reaching the practice grounds.

…

At the training field, knights and squires were busy training on dummies or sparring against each other. He'd hang back, watching casually as he'd note the different styles and stances used. However, his attention shifted to the familiar sight of white cloaks, as Jaime and Lord Commander Barristan were in the middle of a practice duel against each other. They seemed too distracted to notice the Witcher who watched from a distance, curious to see what the two renowned men were capable of.

Both knights moved about constantly as they fought, stepping forward whenever on the offense yet knowing the right time to back away when being countered. Their form was balanced, flexible in nature for any fight. However neither gained any real edge over the other, making Geralt curious at what this duel was building up to. Suddenly Jaime lunged in, grasping his sword in both hands as he'd strike with quick and powerful blows. The angle of every swing was calculated, aimed to guard himself while maintaining a constant attack.

Barristan however seemed unfazed by Jaime's aggressive strikes, his own sword lashing out to clash with each strike the younger knight dealt. It was obvious from the tense look on Jaime's face that the older knight had a lot of force behind each blow, even though he held his sword with one hand. Soon Jaime's advance was halted as the two clashed blades constantly until Barristan forced Jaime into a sword lock. For a moment they struggled, the young knight dead set on outmatching his mentor, though Geralt could see how the Lord Commander's stance shifted. At the last possible moment, he'd take a step back, withdrawing his blade from the sword lock when Jaime pressed forwarded more forcefully. Being caught off balance, Jaime's guard was down for just a short second as he'd twist his body about in the middle of his stumble, the flat of his blade angled just to block his mentor's slash at his side. Using the momentum of turning about, his left hand lashed out in a strike to force Barristan back and give himself a bit of breathing space. Barristan predicted the counter blow, just leaning back to avoid that armored fist by mere inches.

"Enough!" Barristan suddenly declared, his voice have an aged quality with a wise commanding tone to it as well. "Very well done Jaime. You've been matching up quite well."

"I'd prefer to be exceeding sir." Jaime sighed, sheathing his blade before giving a small smirk. "All these years and I still can't strike you. Do I have to spend another half of my life to accomplish that?"

"Heh…I'll be little more than dust and memories by then." The Lord Commander sheathed his own sword before stepping up to Jaime, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're still young and have a long life ahead of you. Your talent is astounding, but never be complacent…always test and push yourself." The man glanced back over his shoulder, sharp gaze looking to where Geralt stood.

By this point the Witcher approach them, drawing Jaime's attention as well. "Hope you didn't mind me watching."

"Not at all Ser Geralt." Barristan answered back as he turned to face him and offer up a hand to shake. "If anything I'm glad to at last have a chance to meet you. I do apologize for not greeting you sooner at the Red Keep. I've been busy with my duties."

The Witcher shook the lord knight's hand, being surprise at strong grip he had. "No worries. Been just as tied up with my own errands." At this point, he'd glance to Jaime. "Like to say you did well during the joust yesterday. Was a close match.

"Close doesn't change the fact that it was a loss…still thank you for the praise." Jaime replied, tone being an odd mix of his sarcastic nature and knightly formalness. "I can say you were impressive yesterday as well. The arrow trick seemed a bit over the top…not all that practical though it has it's uses." Pausing for a moment, he'd smirk a bit. "That aside though, I didn't think you'd be that mad to charge the Mountain like that."

"Battle instinct. Hard not to step in when I saw Ser Loras in trouble."

"Still mad considering..."

"Yet brave and honorable as well." Barristan interrupted, glancing at Jaime. "I'll admit few would dare face against Gregor…even I'll admit that the man would be an imposing challenge. Men fear such fearsome power and reputation, which are powerful weapons in battle."

Jaime seemed thoughtful on his mentor's words, his gaze shifting between the Lord Commander and Witcher. "Thoughtful words Ser Selmy. However I feel its time I got rest and prepare for the Melee. If anything my brother informed me of some unexpected changes to the rules…troublesome news really." He'd look to Geralt, giving a small nod to him. "I'll see you out on the field Geralt. I expect to fully see what you're capable of." With that he'd walk off from the training grounds and disappear into the maze of tents.

…

Barristan lightly shook his head and sighed. "So gifted, yet this overconfidence hinders him. I wonder when he gained such a mindset."

"It's his age. Seen it dozens of times over my travels and from my adopted daughter when I trained her. Still has it to a degree."

"Heh…a fair point. Thinking back I was very much the same when I was young. Time and tribulations have hardened my resolve ever since." The King's Guard Commander began to walk forward, heading back into the camp ground while Geralt followed alongside.

"He has great potential…as do a lot of other young men I've met during my travels here." The Witcher remarked.

"When they hear tales of men like Arthur Dayne and King Robert during the Rebellion, they strive to surpass them. When you and I pass on, our lives will be remembered and in turn be an inspiration for the later generations."

"Deep words Ser Selmy. For me though I plan to live as long as possible…may see if a Witcher can die in a bed than at the end of a sword or claws of a beast."

"Can't deny such aspirations." Selmy chuckled. "You seem to live a free life considering, having traveled so far to our humble country."

"Came here more by chance really…following my daughter."

"Ah yes…the Red Keep has had rumors drifting about your tale. I'll admit it sounds a bit fantastical with the talk of ancient bloodlines and empires."

"Same could be said of how a bunch of Kingdoms were conquered by highborn noble and his sisters riding dragons."

"True enough. We have those beasts' skulls in the cellars to prove that they existed at least." The knight laughed. "However I feel you are misleading us all with your story."

Geralt was silent as the man looked at him, those eye having such a sharp inquisitive quality to them as Selmy tried to read the Witcher's reaction. "I think you're misunderstand."

"Perhaps…call it just an old man's instinct. I'm not suggesting you have any evil intent, no doubt you do so out of personal secrecy."

"It's more complicated than that Ser." Geralt sighed. "Maybe one day I may tell you…although if you'll believe it will be another matter." He did feel that Selmy was indeed trustworthy, perhaps being more relatable with his older age and experience.

"It be an interesting chat for certain." Soon the group neared the royal tent, no doubt to follow his duties in guarding the King. "Still over an hour until the Melee begins. Perhaps you wish to speak with King Robert, considering he has been constantly speaking about you since yesterday."

Before Geralt could give an answer, the King's loud voice spoke out from within the tent. "Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass, did you know that?!"

Both Geralt and Barristan looked at each other with confusion as they quickened their pace to approach the tent, noticing someone else slip inside just ahead of them. The just as baffled guards let them through to reveal a quite odd scene. Ned had been the one to enter the tent before them, the man having a small look of amusement on his face as he stared at his old friend. Robert was in a mixed set of cloth and leather clothes, fitting garb for wearing under armor. A blond haired squire was struggling to clasp a breastplate across the large man's chest, struggling mainly with his round belly and wide sides keeping the armor apart. The boy seemed embarrassed, no doubt from the King's insult as he'd back away, tugging the breastplate off Robert and standing meekly aside.

"Look at this idiot! One ball and no brains! Can't even put a man's armor on him properly!" Robert snapped out, making the squire shift shyly about.

Geralt sighed and shook his head while Barristan muttering low under his breath. "I getting too old for this." The remark drawing a chuckle from Geralt.

Ned crossed his arms after hearing his friend's angry words. "It's because you're too fat for your armor."

"Fat?!" Robert, had a hint of anger show on his face as he'd step forward a bit. "Fat is it? Is that how you speak to your King?"

Eddard was silent, glancing down slightly before giving a small questioning look at his old friend. In the end Robert couldn't help give a low chuckle, drawing one from Ned as well. Even the page gave a small laugh although the King gave a stern look to silence. Before he could snap out at the lad, he'd notice Geralt and Barristan standing by the entrance out. "Anyway you heard the Hand. The armor too small…so…" He'd pause, the squire giving a blank stare of confusion. "…the breastplate spreader! Go get it!"

The squire snapped to attention, glancing about in a hurry before nodding. He'd spring out of the tent, making both Geralt and Selmy quickly step aside to avoid the lad. "Pretty sure there are no such devices your Grace." The Witcher remarked, dry sarcasm in his words.

"Heh and that's the point." Robert chuckled as he moved to a nearby cabinet to get a wine decanter and multiple glasses for everyone. "He's short witted for a Lannister, but Cersei insisted I take him in. No doubt to toughen him up." With all the glasses filled, he'd pick one up and take a deep drink from it before gesturing to the rest to take a glass.

"Rather not sure. I am on duty after all." Selmy remarked.

"And I'm not that thirsty you're Grace." Eddard added.

Geralt though shrugged, guessing a little wine wouldn't hurt after the large meal he had. Stepping up, he picked a glass before taking a drink, Robert giving a grin. "Heh, Geralt understands. Never a wrong time to enjoy a glass, much less before a battle!"

"Mgh…strong stuff considering." Geralt remarked as he looked at the deep red wine. "Also what do you mean? You make it sound like you're about to join the Melee."

"Cersei picked it out last night. Woman maybe frustrating at times but she has a damn good taste in wine!" Robert answered. "And of course! Been far too long since I've been in a brawl…and after yesterday's matches I just have an urge to hit something!"

Everyone else in the room glanced at each other, all having concerned looks while Robert gulped down his wine, finishing the glass and already working on refilling it.

"And who's going to hit you back?" Eddard suddenly spoke up, making Robert glance to his friend.

"Anyone who can."

"There isn't a man in the Seven Kingdoms who'd risk hurting you. You know that."

For a moment Geralt shifted, half tempted to raise a hand to show otherwise. Course he knew better then to do that, although he did speak up. "I feel Lord Stark worries that you may get badly hurt. The Melee is no joke after all…"

"That's the bloody point! I need some real action after all these years, up close and personal!"

Suddenly Geralt, lunged at Robert, his yellow eyes having a sudden fierceness in them. For a moment the King was caught off guard yet held his ground as the Witcher got up close, right hand swinging out up for the side of Robert's head. His fingers snapped sharply at the King's ear, surprising the man as he'd flinch and shift away by reaction. With that glass of wine already dulling his senses and movement, the man nearly tripped on his own two feet, making him brace one hand to the nearby cabinet.

"That's why. Your nearly drunk sire. Doubt you'd be able to stay on your horse during even march." The Witcher stated, before noticing Barristan tense stance, hand gripping the hilt of his sword firmly. Geralt had to admit the man was fast for his age and knew Selmy could have easily drawn his weapon at a moment's notice. Eddard gave a sigh while shaking his head, though seemed glad the Witcher had put some sense into his old friend.

"Ugh…bloody fast you are…" He muttered before glancing at his wine glass, growling lowly before setting it aside on the cabinet top. "…and damn right as well…I'd be an embarrassment…" Glancing at Selmy, he'd sigh seeing the experienced knight still at the ready. "Relax Selmy. If the Witcher wanted me dead he'd had done it a hundred times since we've first met."

Barristan simply nodded as he'd relax his grip on his blade. "Reflex your Grace. Hard to not react so suddenly."

Eddard at last would speak up. "Perhaps you can watch by horse or on the sidelines instead of from the stands? At the least be closer to the battle."

Robert sighed, thinking for a moment. "Guess it be best choice. Fine then…" He'd move to the nearby wardrobe as he began to shift through the many fine royal clothes. "However I expect a damn good fight…especially from you Witcher!"

"Gladly your grace." Geralt muttered as he'd move aside for the flap out of the tent, stopping before Selmy to give a respectful nod to the man. If anything that short moment of tension had the Witcher feel a deeper respect for the man, knowing he was bold and capable to possibly challenging him.

"Wait for me outside Geralt. I'll be out in a moment." Eddard added before the Witcher left.

Outside, Geralt sighed as he'd pace around in the shady. Already he could hear the overall camp become lively as everyone was awake. No doubt the crowds would arrive soon and settle in around the Melee field for the battle. As he glanced around, he'd notice the towering shape of Gregor stepping out of Pycelle's tent. Quickly, he slipped into the deeper shade of the King's tent to avoid the giant's gaze as the man looked about with a tensed expression on his face. Gregor winced as he had one hand grasp at the side of his head, seeming to be in pain. Lifting up a large bottle full of a milky white fluid, he'd take a deep drink from it, giving out a deep sigh as it seemingly ease whatever pain he had been feeling. He'd soon move on, stomping off for his tent to equip himself for the battle ahead.

"Hmm…gigantism does have its draw backs…" Geralt muttered as he'd step out of hiding, just as Eddard left the royal tent. The man gave a small nod for the Witcher to follow, already leading the way back to Geralt's tent.

"Bold move doing that, but a smart one." Eddard remarked after a moment of silent walking.

"Robert is a man of action, so I simply spoke his language."

"Heh, a cunning move considering. Bet I'd have spent an hour just arguing with him."

"I think your idea having him watch up close helped a lot. He didn't complain after that."

"Aye…he didn't."

By now the two reached Geralt's tent, yet as they neared it the Witcher stopped as he could hear someone moving around inside. He'd make a small gesture for Ned to be quiet before he'd slip through the tent flap, one hand reaching slightly for his swords if needed. He'd quickly realize that his intruder was simply Davos who was checking around the quite bare tent.

"Snooping around captain?"

The sailor gave a small gasp and turned about, giving a sigh when he saw it was Geralt. "Seven Geralt…anyone tell you not to surprise people like that." He'd muttered.

The Witcher just smirked and shrugged as he'd step fully into the tent, Eddard following in. Seeing Lord Stark, Davos gave a short respectful bow before offering a hand out. "Ah Lord Stark! It's an honor to at last meet you."

Eddard gave a small smile as the two shook hands. "I take you're Davos Seaworth. Geralt has told me a bit about you, how you're trader and lord serve under Lord Stannis. How has he been of late?"

"Very busy considering his work on the new fleet. Been spending months sailing between every port across Westeros and Essos just to get the supplies needed." Yet before he could say more there be a sudden trumpeting, the signal for everyone to gather at the Melee field. "Ah but we can chat on the matter later."

"Of course." Ned looked to Geralt. "You sure you're ready for this?"

The Witcher smirked, noting Eddard's troubled look. "I was made to fight Ned. If anything I'm eager to cut loose for once."

"Just don't overdo it. A lot of those knights are honest men…even if they will be fighting just as fiercely." Turning to leave, he'd stop just before leaving the tent to glance back. "Give Gregor hell though. Time he pay for his vile actions…and give a few people some peace of mind." With that he'd leave the tent, Davos following close behind, giving a small grin of confidence to the Witcher before he left.

Now alone, Geralt took a moment to take a deep breath, closing his eyes as he composed himself. It had been a long while since he had been in a real battle, much less mass combat. While he could use his sword skills more fully, he knew he'd have to pull some strikes else he'd easily cripple some of the knights even with their heavier armor. Once more the trumpet sounded, making the Witcher open his eyes as he was now ready, as he'd gather Roach's horse armor, knowing his mount needed much protection as possible. As he shifted through the chest, he'd notice something tucked away behind it, a wooden pole and a greyed piece of cloth. Reaching around to grasp the cloth, he'd pick it up and fold it to reveal it was a banner, the symbol being that of snarling face of the Wolf Medallion with a looming keep in the background, the shadow of Kaer Morhen.

"Heh…not bad." He think back to Tyrion's question about the Witcher needing a banner, being quite insistent on the matter. While he had been reluctant, seeing the finished banner did bring a welcoming feeling, a reminder of returning home. He wondered for a moment what Eskal and Lambert would think about the banner, no doubt joke to high hell about every detail about it. Grabbing banner, he'd get it set on the pole before heading outside with it along with Roach's armor as well.

Striding out of his tent, he'd go to the nearby horse trough where he had Roach tied by. Working on getting the armor strapped across the mare's sides, flank and head he'd mutter to her. "Not feeling nervous Roach? Been a while since we've been in a fight together."

The mare seemed to huff in some understand, head shaking a bit in what he guessed was a no.

"Good. If you can face down a wyvern without an issue, I doubt a few knights will spook you." Patting her head, he'd quickly pull himself onto the comfortable saddle, holding his banner with one hand while guiding Roach between the encampments of tents.

…

Soon the Melee Field was in sight where already half of the knights were gathered up, all mounted and holding high their personal or House banners. Geralt had Roach pace about looking for a good spot, until noticed Loras among the lineup. Moving up to be at his right, he'd give a small nod to the young and lavishly armored knight. "Doing alright today Ser Loras?"

"Just a sore pride after yesterday's jousting tumble." He'd chuckle back. "I'll admit the Melee isn't my favored event, yet I feel I need to strive harder today…show everyone the Tyrells are capable on the field."

"Confidence like that can overcome much. I'm certain you'll do well."

Loras nodded before the trumpet was blown a third time, signaling that the event was to begin. Quickly glancing along the line he'd recognized Gregor, Sandor and Jaime among the other knights. He'd notice a few men from yesterday were missing…discounting Hugh who was very much deceased. By his count, there was only forty now with himself included.

Everyone waited tensely for a moment until from around the stand, Robert and Tyrion rode out with Eddard and Barristan following close behind them. The King and dwarf paced along the line up of knights and warrior, Robert seeming to closely examine them up close with a stern judging gaze. Soon the group stopped at front center of the grouped warriors.

"All of you are some of the greatest warriors and knights Westeros has to offer. Men with unmatched skill, strength and spirit. Many of you shown off such qualities yesterday at the joust and archery match…yet here the Melee will truly test you!" Robert's voice had such a commanding strength to it, almost as if he was readying them for war. "However, I think a few of you have become soft…" The sudden criticism had a few of the men glanced around, confused at their King's words. "Many of you depend on the advantage of having a mount, giving you the speed and defense to best nearly any foe. Sometimes though you won't have that luxury and will have to rely on nothing more than your own two feet."

As if to make the point, he'd shift about on his saddle and drop off the side. Ned gave quite shocked look as his friend landed firmly on his feet, a low wince just escaping the unfit King, although he did well to hide the discomfort. At the least it showed he had sobered up enough to recover some sense of balance.

"Ser Loras reminded me of this. If a knight becomes helpless once dismounted then he may as well be a helpless babe!" Loras shifted in his seat, glancing away in embarrassment as a few chuckles escaped from the crowd. "So that's why this Melee we're changing the usual rules. No horses…no lances…just mace, sword and shield!"

Already a few of the knights muttered, a few seeming unsure of this sudden changes. Geralt saw this as a surprising blessing since now he wouldn't have to deal with dangerous lances most of the men had planned to use. Already he noticed Thoros grinning, seeming pleased at this new turn of events. While he had won a few matches in the joust, Geralt knew the Red Priest preferred more up close and personal duels then those behind a lance.

"After some insistence from his Grace, the original rules I had planned have been…considerable altered." From how it sounded, Tyrion seemed annoyed that his plans had been changed since he had no doubt spent a long time creating them. "While we have fewer men competing we will still start the Melee with two teams. Lucky we have an even amount…unless anyone has any second thoughts?" No one spoke or moved to leave, no doubt not wanting to look cowardly. "Good…that makes my job easier. Overall the rules are simple. No horses will be used in this battle. You are free to use any weapons of your choice…except for you Ser Gregor.

The giant knight gave a confused grunt from under his helmet, before an annoyed growl. "Why is that dwarf?" He demanded.

"This dwarf is still the master of the games. Speaking out of line doesn't help your cause Ser Gregor…so disobey and I'll have you marched off the field, in chains if needed!" Tyrion spoked sternly, surprising many at his sharp warning to the Mountain. "Your history of death at tournaments is well known, as we saw yesterday. If anything I'd rather have you far off at your Keep then remaining here. However your King has decided to give you one chance. You will fight with a blunted sword, little more than a practice blade. You'll need not worry for it is the size and weight is what you prefer using in battle. At the least you won't be easily lopping off limbs, yet if you do go out of your way to kill or cripple anyone then we'll see that you face the King's Justice…is that clear?"

Again the Mountain growled, hand gripping the reins of his horse tightly, tugging them back that his new warhorse whined in discomfort. "Clear…my lord." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Wonderful. Glad we've came to an understanding." At this point Geralt felt Tyrion was testing how far he could toy with the Mountain, making him wonder if the dwarf was that fearless or just confident his rank protected him. "The usual rules of the Melee apply. When first blood is drawn from cut or blow you or you are disarmed, you are to yield to your opponent and leave the field. We will have spotters to ensure no cheating or foul play is done, though I believe all of you will avoid such unfairness. When half the contestants have been bested, a horn will sound which will signal the free for all between all survivors. Any teamwork will be of convenience or alliance. You will be allowed to trade more blows during this half of the battle with being disarmed still considered a defeat." He'd pause for a moment to let all the details sink in. "If there are no questions then choose a side of the field and leave your horses behind. We have extra weapons set in your respective camps if you require any. Besides that I wish all of you the Sevens fortunes and an honorable battle."

With that, Tyrion gave a short bow from his horse while the gathered knights quickly broke away from the line. Gregor was quick to go to the northern end of the field and amusingly many others quickly followed after him. No doubt they felt safer having him on their side, at least until the latter half of the Melee if they survived. Jaime and Thoros headed off to the northern end as well while Geralt, Sandor and Loras moved to the south end.

Geralt glanced at the Hound, a scarred man keeping his gaze set before him with a serious look in his eyes. He didn't say anything to Sandor, not wanting to annoy or distract him before the battle. Once everyone had arrived at the camp, they'd dismount and tie their horses up at the temporary stables that had been set up for them. A few of the knights moved to the nearby weapon racks, checking over a selection of weapons ranking from spears, maces and swords of all sizes. Loras was among the group as he'd eye a few weapons, picking out a heavy mace for himself which he hefted up quite easily. Despite the pretty face and slim build he was stronger than he looked.

The Witcher didn't need any others weapons, feeling his steel and silver sword along with the Dragon Fang would be more than enough for the Melee. Standing at the edge of the camp, he'd calmly wait as the rest of his team prepared themselves. His eyes closed as he'd calm his mind, entering a light meditation to ready himself.

"Praying now? Didn't think you the type." Sandor gruffly spoke, snapping Geralt to attention.

"Was meditating." He'd bluntly answer back.

"If you say so." From the Hound's tone he seemed to care considering. "Let's get one thing straight here. Gregor is mine to kill…not yours you hear?"

"Who said anything about killing?"

"Heh! That is rich coming from you." Sandor laughed. "I saw the look in your eyes when you faced against him. You'd have cut him down at that moment if you had the chance. The eyes of a killer."

Geralt was silent, making the Hound give a grim chuckle

.

"Being quiet about it? Trying to deny what you are."

"No…but I don't boast about it like others."

Sandor's gaze narrowed. "Whatever. Point is keep away from Gregor. Only chance I may to get to get back at the bastard."

By now the rest of the knights were gathering up, forming a line for the coming march onto the field. Off in the distance the other team did the same and even from here Geralt could see the giant Clegane in the distance. Made sense why they called him the Mountain.

"Then best of luck." Geralt simply answered back to Sandor just before the signal horn was blown. "Try not to lose too quickly." Drawing his steel blade, he'd already step forward as everyone began to walk onto the field, going at a slow pace for the moment.

Sandor was quick to follow, catching up to the front of the group where Geralt was. Slowly the distance between the two teams shortened and in turn their pace picked up. Soon everyone was at a quick march as both groups neared. By now Geralt was able pick out the other notable fighters on the other team, Jaime who was following close behind the Mountain, armed with a fine sword and an ornate reinforced heater shield with the front stylized with a roaring lion's head. Thoros was also among the leading warriors, a wide eager grin on his face as he quickly noticed Geralt.

"Witcher! I knew you'd be at the lead!" He yelled out loudly. "Yes…no fear or hesitation!" Glancing about at the knights, he'd rise his sword up. "Watch and learn men! This is how you start a proper battle!" Suddenly he'd burst into a charge, giving a fierce and quite intimidating battle cry. Some of the younger knights on the Witcher's side flinched, while the men of the priest's side seemed rallied. The Mountain gave his own roar as he and the others joined the charge.

Geralt's glance at the other knights, sensing the nervous tension they had. "No backing out. Face them head on!" He yelled out before facing the enemy. With a growl he'd rush forward, showing his inhuman speed for that short sprint ahead.

Loras nodded in agreement. "Geralt is right! Show no fear! We are the knights of Westeros and we back down to no one, not even our own!" He'd close his visor down before he'd charge as well, trying to catch up with the Witcher.

"Don't need you to tell me that damn flower boy!" Sandor cursed out as he too rushed forward and in turn the rest of the men did the same.

For a long moment the air was filled with the stomp of armored feet and fierce yells. In the end both groups met, with the leading warriors clashing first. Jaime and Loras striked at each other, shields up to ward off the opening attack. Sandor and Gregor roared out as their massive swords clashed, sparks flying for a short moment as the weapons roughly dragged against each other in the blade lock. Geralt and Thoros slashed at the same time, counter acting each other's attack with a resounding clang.

Soon everyone else locked in combat as the battle truly began. Men traded blows, often guarding them with shield or their weapons. No one was wounded at first, showing how well trained even the newest knights were. Everyone had chosen an opponent, leading to fierce duels all across the field.

Geralt was too caught up fighting Thoros to focus on Loras and Jaime's fight, yet could see the two towering Cleganes striking at each other. Sandor proved to have more swordsmanship as he blocked and dodged about, although Gregor proved to be shocking agile even with all that plate and chain armor covering him.

"Don't get distracted Witcher!" Thoros yelled as he'd step up, grasping the front of Geralt's leather jacket piece as he'd pull the Witcher forward and spinning him about in a disorienting throw. While caught off guard by the moment, Geralt moved along with the throw as he'd drop into a tumble to avoid falling over, standing up just as Thoros stabbed at him. He'd parry at the last moment to stagger the priest back before he'd side step around and counter attack at the priest's side, yet the large man proved to be reckless as instead of dodging away then step forward in a shoulder tackle.

"Crazy old man" Geralt muttered, having nearly stabbed the man by accident. Thoros just laughed as he'd moved boldly forward, swinging his sword broadly out with each stride as if challenging the Witcher to attack back. A normal warrior would go on the defensive, try to back off or find a prime chance to counter, but the Witcher did the opposite. He'd strike back as both blades clashed again and again, meeting force with force. Both men held their ground, though Thoros was began to pant heavily while Geralt hardly seemed winded despite the constant attacking.

Just as Geralt was about to lash out at the priest, he heard someone yell out behind him. His arm and body turned about as he'd parry aside a mace from striking at his back, surprising the knight who had thought him an easy target. The Witcher didn't stop there as he'd duck to the right side of the man, avoiding a shield bash before he'd cut at the knight's exposed side, going across the least armored spot along it. The man yelled in pain as the fine Witcher sword sliced through whatever under armor and clothing that was under the plate, drawing thick blood with one slash. Grasping his side, the man backed off as he lowered his mace. "I yield!" He hissed out yet Geralt hardly listened as already another warrior stepped forward to challenge.

Thoros also was ambushed, the Red Priest giving a roaring battle cry that had the knight running away, which he chased after laughing like a maniac. "This isn't over Witcher! Don't lose just yet!" He yelled out. By now a few of the other knights had been bested and now began to target others, a few focusing on men still dueling another. A few got blindsided by a mace to the head or cut to an exposed spot, leading to curses and yells for 'yield!'.

Thoros had gotten separated from Geralt, giving him time to catch his breath while taking down a few knights on his own, using his more wild and usual tactics to outmatch them. For the Witcher he put his mutant speed and reflexes to full use as he'd weave and dodge attacks from all sides before sneaking in a solid slash be it to the side, back of the leg or with a powerful strike with the flat of his blade knock their weapon from their grasp. In time, the men started to realize that the Witcher had taken down three men on his own in just a matter of minutes.

"Surround Ser Geralt! Outmatch him while we can!" Someone yelled out. Quickly the Witcher realized a six knights had surrounded him, seeming to have formed an alliance just to take him as early as possible. Geralt held his ground, cat eyes glancing fiercely at the grouped-up knights.

"Best back off now. You'll need twice the numbers to make this a challenge." He calmly stated, sword up as he took a defensive stance.

Someone from the side gave an angry yell before charging, soon getting a back-hand blow to the face, knocked him off balance. The young man didn't stand a chance as the Witcher quickly disarmed him, flat of his sword striking hard enough at his arm to drive a pained howl from him as he probably got a fracture wrist from how strong the strike even against plate armor.

Two knights moved in this time, not making the same mistake yelling out during their attack. Geralt anticipated their coordinated attack, using his inhuman speed to ducked under a stab and followed into a roll to avoid a sweeping mace. Using the momentum and his agility, he'd spring back onto his feet then twist about to slash across backs of both men, drawing shocked cries as his sharp blade cut through their armor."

"Guh…what…what kind of weapon is that?!" One gasped as they'd struggle away, dropping their weapons as they surrendered.

"It's like valyrian steel…" Another muttered as Geralt again took a defensive stance, keeping such a calm look still despite the still being surrounded.

By now the group of warriors were hesitant, unsure of how to face Witcher whose speed and strength were unlike anything they had seen. A few nervously shifted back whenever his yellow gaze focused on them, worried he'd rush them and cut them down in moments. In the end though their resolve returned as all three rushed at him, trying a combined attack.

The trio were all uniquely armed with one having a shield and mace, another a two-handed sword and the last with just a long sword. The one with the shield was up first, lunging in shield up to block Geralt's opening attack before he'd stab out. The Witcher hated dealing with shields since direct attacks never worked, requiring more agile tactics to counter. If anything he'd use an Igni to burn or overheat the shield off, yet he obviously couldn't do that. The long sword knight moved to flank him, trying to trap the Witcher between him and the shielded warrior. Both men attacked at once, yet Geralt was quick to adapt as he parry the swordman's blade to stagger him back before twisting about to just dodge the other's stabbing sword. The unshielded knight yelled as he got stabbed by his ally, making him curse out gripping at the light wound at his side.

By this point the man with the two-handed sword rushed in to try and draw Geralt's attention as he'd slash at the Witcher from behind. With the shield man limiting his movements, Geralt rolled to the side to avoid the crashing blade, then quickly stood up to lunge at man with the great sword. He barely blocked the incoming attack and was forced onto the defensive. The large weapon didn't offer much defense against Geralt's rapid attacks and he had no way to counterattack. The shielded knight followed after them, giving a yell as he gave an overhead swing to draw at the Witcher.

However instead of turning his blade about to block it, he'd move his left arm out to have the strong Stark bracer block the blow. It did draw a grunt from him, the armor piece absorbed the hit well. Shoving his arm back, he'd force the shieldbearer back, leaving his guard expose for a powerful kick. The force behind it had him fall back a few feet as Geralt's mutant strength showed off for a moment. With one knight knocked down, he'd focus back on the one with the great sword as he'd duck under a diagonal slash, slipping around one side and strike the flat of his blade against the man's knee, forcing him down onto it. Before the knight knew it, his left arm was grabbed and twisted back along with the Witcher's blade pressing to his neck.

"I yield!" The man gasped out as he dropped his sword, unable to swing that far behind him, much less being in a painful arm hold. The man was shoved forward as Geralt wordlessly rushed to the other knight who was busy struggling back up. He tried to get his shield raised only for it to be pinned down under the Witcher's boot. Before he could even try bashing out with his mace, the young warrior soon had sharp steel pointed at his face and those yellow eyes starting fiercely at him.

"I surrender…" He muttered, giving a sigh as Geralt backed off. Just then a signal horn blew out, a sign that half the warriors were bested by now.

"Huh that was quicker than expected." Geralt muttered before noticing another group of six were already surrounding him. He'd recognize a few from his team even as everyone realized just how dangerous he was. "This is more like it." He'd give a small grin, which was a bit unnerving to men. This time all six attacked, not holding back in an all-out attack. With adrenaline pumping through him, Geralt just let instinct take hold as push himself to the limit. He was a blur of movement as he'd weave and dodge between everyone, misdirecting attacks towards other knights or having them overreach themselves.

Soon one by one they were getting picked off as Geralt slipped his blade past their defenses and armor, landing multiple cuts, kicks, punches and pommel blows until they gave up. However as he clashed with the third remanding knight, a familiar yell came off to the side. "Back off! The Witcher is mine!" Thoros loudly declared, grabbing and turning about one young knight who had lost his helmet during the battle. The unfortunate man got a powerful head butt to the forehead, making his eyes roll back before falling roughly back. While the priest seemed daze for a moment, the knight was out cold, making the man laugh out.

"Not as tough as they look heh?" The priest looked roughed up, his red robe covered with dirt and blade

Geralt ignored Thoros as he focused on defeating his currently opponent who'd he quickly disarm with a strong parry and a spinning strike to the hand with the flat of his blade. Cursing lowly, the warrior backed off while he could as already the Red Priest stomped forward for a second match against the Witcher.

"Is your Red God going to hand you victory priest?" Geralt jested in a dry yet serious manner.

The priest shook his head. "The future isn't set in stone…yet I have glimpsed it fires." He'd step forward, arms out and sword held high. "For these last years I've questioned my faith…numbing that doubt in drink and battle. I thought today would be just the same, yet yesterday the flames showed me this moment."

The Witcher was silent, wondering what the man was getting at with his so called vision of his.

"Faith is a powerful thing Witcher. Today it has been restored within me!" The man held his sword out as his left hand touched at base of his blade as suddenly flames shot up across the metal. Holding the flaming weapon high, the nearby men gasped out in shock, confused at what just happened. "Behold! The Lord of Light share his blessing this day!"

Surprise hinted the Witcher's face, not expecting this sudden claim. He heard how in the past the priest used wildfire, an alchemy mixture that was very resistant to water, in certain battles such as the Ironborn Rebellion. The flames of wildfire were green, while the flames around the sword were a fierce red. His medallion even shook fiercely for a moment, hinting of a strong magical power behind that burning weapon.

"Well Thoros…you have my full attention now." Geralt muttered. "Let's see if your faith will give you victory!"

The red priest smiled widely as he'd roar out, making the surrounding knights flinch back in shock as he'd rush forward. Like before, he and Geralt's blade clashed, the runes along the steel sword glowing as they reacted to the enchanted flames of Thoros sword. The man seemed to have a surge of strength about him as he'd forced Geralt one then two steps back, pressing his burning weapon closer to the Witcher's face. Up close the heat of the fire was intense, much like the ones created by Igni.

"Yield Witcher! I rather not burn you…" Thoro threatened, his eyes wild with fierce fanaticism.

Geralt growled out, body tensing up as he put the full force of his mutant strength forward. He'd shove back, driving that burning blade away from his face and give him enough freedom to back step from a sweeping slash. The Red Priest kept up the attack as he did wide swings, making nearby warriors hurry away to avoid flaring embers of his sword. Geralt kept backing up, dealing back counter blows at the same time as he matched force with force. Sparks flew as both magically empowered weapons clashed, ringing clank of metal echoing across the field.

If anything the battle drew attention as the men stopped to watch the epic clash, unable to believe someone could match up to Thoro's inhuman ferocity. Like before the man began to tire from the constant attacks, unable to break Geralt's defense and dodging speed. At this point the Witcher decided to end this as he'd leap back to avoid an overhead strike, only to lunge in with a downward slash of his own. Thoro's eyes widened, yet it wasn't fear or shock only an amazed realization as if he had expected this.

He quickly raised his burning blade up to ward off the blow, giving a strained grunt as the power behind the Witcher's attack forced him to one knee. Sparks flew about from the clashing blades, Geralt not hesitating as he swung at the man's left, aiming for the neck. Thoros had little energy and time left to defend himself as he tilted the burning sword about, just enough to guard but also flinging the weapon from his grip. The flaming sword flew overhead, a few observant knights being quick to duck aside as it neared them.

Thoros fully dropped onto both knees, panting hard as the Witcher's steel sword pressed to his neck, bringing a pleased grin to his face. "Glorious…you are truly unmatched…" The man chuckled between breaths while Geralt kept that calm expression.

"You knew this would happen didn't you?"

"Yes. The fire did not lie, even if the outcome was a bit unclear. Visions can be that way.." Thoros bowed his head, smirking. "You are indeed chosen. No matter your belief is Witcher, you have grand part in the Lord's plan!"

Geralt didn't answer. He hated the talk of prophecies, even more when given by clerics and religious fanatics.

"Yet your battle isn't done. For you have a Mountain topple and a Lion to humble."

…

As if on cue, Geralt heard a surprised yell off to the side, making him and the other surviving knights' glance over to the right. Thoros burning sword had landed just between Sandor and Gregor, blade embedded into the dirt. The two had seemingly been locked in personal battle for most of the Melee, being equally matched. Sandor still wore his hound helmet which hid his face, yet from the way he tensed up around the burning sword hinted a fear for the flames coming off the weapon.

Gregor however was unfazed as he'd howl out, snapping Sandor out of that fearful state as his brother swung his blunted blade up. The Hound quickly raised his own large sword up, bracing himself for the powerful blow. He partly blocked the strike as the blunted sword broke his guard and uppercut his helmet, knocking it off his head and drawing a painful crack to the scarred man's jaw. He'd tumble to the ground, panting and growling from the pain, struggling to get up as his brother loomed over him.

"You've become weak Sandor. A little fire had you cowering." Gregor mocked as he pointed to the sword just as the fire covering it sputtered out. "Should just kill you…put such disgrace aside…"

"Then do it you bastard!" Sandor cursed out, suddenly turning about to swing his sword up at the towering knight. Gregor caught Sandor's arm with one large hand stopped the attack with ease. Despite his toughness and strong armor, Sandor yelled in pain as the gauntlet on his forearm was being crumbled under that powerful grasp. Soon the Hound was forced to let go of his sword, unable to stop the brutal disarming.

"Nah…killing you be boring. You at least give me a challenge whenever you get the balls to face me." The Mountain laughed under his helmet while Sandor howled as his metal bracer started to dent under the unhuman grip, starting to crush the man's arm. "A broken arm should do…"

"Let him go."

Gregor snapped his head up, glancing to the left to see who had spoken up to him. He'd see Geralt standing nearby, those yellow eyes staring unblinking at him.

"You again? You have a habit butting in when unwanted…" The Mountain growled.

"Let Sandor go Gregor. You've bested him."

"Shut up Witcher! I don't need you-uggh!" Sandor bit back the pain as his brother squeezed harder down at the forearm, ready to snap it on a moment's notice.

"He may be a failure, but he's right Witcher. This doesn't involve you…"

"Maybe so…" Geralt stepped forward, sword up at the ready. "Yet the Melee is still going and no one seems eager to fight either of us." Indeed the lingering knights were either battling each other or just watching in shock at what was happening before them, as Geralt directly challenging the fearsome giant. "You're nothing more than a child murder and rapist. A coward who relies on fear and brutality to have their way. I'm not afraid of you…if anything even the most pathetic nekker is more fearsome then you."

"Nekker?!...What the fuck is a nekker?!" Gregor snarled before roughly let go of Sandor's arm. He'd following it up with a strong kick the fallen man's side, knocking the Hound a few feet aside and stunning him. Standing tall, he'd hold up his giant sword with one hand, giving an angered growl under his barreled helmet. "Stupid freak…forget the rules. I'll break you in half. See how righteous you are when your dead!" He'd heft up his blunted great sword high, roaring out as he'd swing it down at Geralt's neck. The attack was fast with the strength in those arms and weight of the weapon, no doubt being powerful enough to knock someone's head off. For the Witcher though the attack was slow as he'd glance at the nearing blade, ducking under it at the last second before shuffling to the left side of the giant.

The powerful left swing made the giant of a man unbalanced, not expecting the Witcher to be agile enough to avoid such a sudden attack. Geralt sword slashed out at the Mountain's exposed side, the enchanted steel blade striking directly across, however it didn't slice fully through armor like past opponents. The Mountain grunted from the hit and backstepped, giving the Witcher a short chance to see the damage done. The meteorite steel had sliced through the plate, revealing multiple layers to the specially design armor, chain and harden leather. It be a miracle for any man to move wearing so much and he couldn't imagine how hot it must get as well.

Gregor roared in anger as he'd twist about, left armored hand swinging out, the backhand no doubt as strong as a hammer. Geralt brought his sword up to guard it, grunting as blocking it made him skid backward, but he was quick to move as that great sword neared him again. He'd sidestep and weave around the towering warrior, circling behind him as he tried to find a weak spot among that dense armor. After all, even the tougher protection be it armor of men or the hide of a monster had gaps to it. When he checked around he'd see that the back of the armor joints from the knees, ankles, shoulders and elbows were more lightly armored, only having chainmail or leather at those points to allow movement.

"Stop dancing and face me!" The Mountain continued his wide attacks, trying to use the great reach of his weapon to force Geralt back. A normal fighter would try to put as much distance between the man's blade and lashing fists, yet the Witcher continued to avoid each powerful attach with ease. Shifting to Gregor's right side, he'd suddenly give a short leap as he bashed the toughed hilt of his sword against the side of the man's head, making a resounding clang echo outand a pained cry escape from the Mountain.

Gregor lashed out again with fist and sword blindly, Geralt continuing to avoid them while he looped around. Once more he leaped, hilt striking the head again, this time denting the side of that barrel helm. Once more an echoing bang and pained cry. "Fucking…grrahhh! Stop that!" The Witcher didn't relent as he'd duck under a straight punch then rose up to suddenly grab at the armored collar. Yanking Gregor forward as he'd give two crossing blows with the sword hilt and pommel, warping the metal visor and further denting the helm with the raw strength behind each strike.

Despite the stunning blows, Gregor's toughness was put on display as he'd endure the ringing pain and give a strong left jab right at the Witcher's chest. Geralt realized the man's move and leaped back, though got the blunt of that fist to the gut. Grunting out, he was knocked a few feet back yet maintained his footing. He'd grasp at his stomach, he'd take deep steady breaths as he'd stare down the man. The force of that blow feeling like getting butted by a Chort or Fiend, showing just how freakishly strong the man was.

"Ruined my…gah! Damn helmet!" Grasped at the dented helm, he'd struggle to get it off because of the damage done to it. Geralt stood back, giving the brute a chance to at least remove his damaged helmet. Once it was thrown aside, Gregor's look of pure rage was fully shown across his gruff reddened face, eyes bloodshot from frustration from the ringing pain in his head.

"Having trouble Mountain? Head aching after that?" He knew the man was no doubt suffering intense headaches because of his abnormal size. Even if he was drugged up, it left him sensitive to head blows. With him mentally pained and angered, he'd be more unfocused and clumsy.

"Going to…kill you…crush your head…" Gregor grunted, teeth gritting together as he strained against throbbing pain in his skull.

Geralt tensed up again for another attack as the Mountain lifted up his great sword for a slamming blow, trying to crush the Witcher with the blunted blade. The Witcher moved at the last second as the weapon came crashing down, lunging at the left side of the man. Gregor was too addled to react quickly as Geralt twisted about to put his full strength behind his next attack. Honed mutant strength and meteorite steel sliced through the exposed back calf and knee with ease, cutting through the man's thick muscles with ease.

Gregor growled out in pain, his react quite subdued for such a deep crippling wound. He'd slump forward, planting his sword into the ground to brace his body up as the armor began to weigh on him from the lack of leg support.

"Just cut the muscle fiber in your leg and knee. Recoverable yet crippling. You won't be able to stand or move properly with that injury. Yield." Geralt calmly stated, flicking blood off his sword.

"Lier. Just a flesh wound…" Gregor panted as he'd suddenly shift upward, grunting as his badly cut leg buckled, seemingly support him.

The Witcher had a surprise hint show in his eyes, seeing the man ignore a quite grievous injury. Perhaps the man was that addicted to pain killers that his body was numbed to such injuries. It be one explanation the claims of being invincible. "Idot…Give up. Don't make me cripple you."

Ignoring the warnings Gregor yelled out as he'd turnabout and swung his blade, going for a low sweep at the Witcher's legs. Leaping over the attack, he'd quickly roll to the man's right, drawing out Dragon Fang with his left hand for an up-close attack. The mountain flexed his arm back, trying to drive his elbow and shoulder backwards to stroke, though only giving Geralt an easier target. That sharp dagger sunk right into the nook of his elbow, stabbing through thick flesh and muscle until the very tip pierced through the other end.

Roaring out, Gregor lashed out with his left fist, forcing Geralt to withdraw, but the damage was done. The Mountain seemed unfazed with the injury, even as his body showed just how damaged it had become. His arm became limp, struggling to hold the blade up now as his elbow could hardly flex upward.

"Give up." Geralt growled as he paced about the towering man, sheathing Dragon Fang after brushing the blood off of its gleaming blade.

"Fuck you!" Gregor just switched the blade to his left hand, once more lashing out with fearsome strength still. It was futile as the attack was avoided and Geralt flanked him after a quick dodge. Grasping his sword with both hands, he'd tense for a powerful strike, decided to try rending through the back of the plate armor. The Mountain tried to turn about to defend or force back, taking too long to react meteorite steel cut across the left shoulder and back. Plate and chain armor was sliced through, along flesh and muscle. It took much of Geralt's self-control to stop the blow from cleaving into the warrior's spine.

This time the giant howled in true pain before he tumbled, his injuries overcoming even him. His grip on his sword loosened as he laid on his back, blood lightly marking across the grass. Geralt loomed over the man, fierce yellow gaze looking at that stubborn face. The watching knights were dead silent, openly gawking at battle's outcome. Geralt at last could hear the nearby crowds cheering and calling out in the distance. No doubt they were going wild after what they had just witnesses as the Mountain was seemingly bested.

"It's over Gregor." Geralt muttered as he looked back down at the giant.

Suddenly the man's left arm twitched and swung out, sweeping for Gealt's legs. If it had been anyone else they would have easily been tripped over, but a Witcher's reflexes were far too honed for such a trick. His steel heeled boot stomped down on the man's armored wrist, a crack being heard as the joint fractured. Gregor yelled from the crushing pain while an intense scowl crossed Geralt's face, annoyed at the man's persistence.

"Heh…you enjoy it…" Gregor chuckled between deep breaths. "Hurting others…your eyes show it!"

Geralt was silent, his answer being his boot grinding down more on the man's wrist.

"Doesn't change a thing…I'll kill you…don't matter how…"

At that point the boot twisted, a snap following as the wrist was then broken in one move. Gregor groaned out in pain, body shaking from the shock.

"You won't hurt anyone else ever again at this rate." Geralt moved his foot off the limp limb taking a deep breath as he calmed himself.

"Finish it then! Kill me…because I swear I'll gut you…and everyone you fucking care for!" Gregor yelled before giving a crooked grin. "Maybe I'll find that girl…"

Geralt gave an odd look, confused at what Gregor meant.

"Heh…your silver haired bitch. Ciri…whatever…the one I heard rumors about. I'll show her…"

The Mountain didn't get to finish his cruel threat as a spiked studded glove soon crushed down at his face. With two powerful punches there'd be a sickening crack and gush of blood as Geralt broke the man's nose, maybe even cracking the right cheek considering the buckled look it had. That blow shut the giant up as he'd lay very still, having at last fallen unconscious. Geralt winced a bit as he flexed his grip, surprised at how tough the man's face was considering the stress he felt in his knuckles.

"Pray you don't meet her…because she'd be far less merciful…" Geralt muttered, uncaring if Gregor could even hear him.

In the end Gregor was still, face stuck in an angered scowl while blood oozed from his twisted nose bloodied mouth. For the first time in the man's violent life he had been completely bested, the only blessing being that he drew breath still.

…

By now a small group squires had hurried over, muttering quickly at the sight of the Mountain passed out and bleeding. "Get the cart!" One yelled as another already hurried off to the northern camp. Considering the sheer weight of the man and his armor, it be difficult to move him to the infirmary tent back in the main camp. Because of his serious injuries, he'd need the aid of Maesters to tend to his wounds. Geralt wasn't sure if he'd be disqualified or punished for badly injuring Gregor, though no one had called out or had tried to intervene during the battle. Perhaps they didn't think they could stop the Mountain or the crowd was too eager to see the fight's outcome.

By now Geralt's attention shifted to the surrounding crowds along the field as shocked gasps and amazed cheers filled the air as everyone noticed who was being carted off the field. Soon there were growing chants of 'White Wolf', 'Witcher' and Geralt as everyone knew who had toppled the infamous warrior. Even the knights gave cheers and laughs, Thoros being the loudest. For a short moment Geralt couldn't help but smirk at the praise, unused to such attention.

"By the Flame Geralt…I knew you were good but…the man hardly fazed you." The Red Priest remarked.

"Just fought him the Witcher's way. Figured his weaknesses and exploited them." By this point his attention fell to the remaining knights, at least eight others from what he could tell. "Still a few left." His sword arm shifted up slightly, making the remaining knights tense up.

A few looked at each other before giving small chuckles and shaking their heads. "Considering what we witnessed…I doubt we'd stand a chance." One knight admitted. Soon one by one the remaining knights dropped their weapons into a pile, giving respectful nods to Geralt as they surrendered.

"Not me…" A familiar voice growled as Sandor shoved through the group, large sword in hand as he'd suddenly rush at Geralt, forcing the Witcher to lock blades to hold him back. Up close he could see that Sandor's jaw was badly bruised, most likely cracked considering the blood coating his teeth and worn lips. "I had him…yet you got in the way again!"

"Right, because trying to get your arm broken was part of the plan." Geralt countered back. "Just saved you a lot of trouble considering."

"Maybe. Was good to see the bastard beaten after all these years…doesn't make me any less pissed with you." He'd press in, showing off his strength as he forced his blade closer to Geralt's face. "I was going to put him down…now you denied me that. More reason we settle our little rivalry here and now!"

"Gregor disarmed-"

"You think I care?! Fuck the Melee and the rules. This is personal for me now!" Before either man could react someone suddenly spoke up.

"You'll heel Hound."

Both Geralt and Sandor glanced to the crowd, watching the gathered knights step aside for Jaime as he approached, plated helm under one arm to cool off after the long battle. His armor was more of a bronze color then golden with all the dust covering it and his white King's Guard cloak was worn from moving about constantly. His fine sword had blood on it and the lion shield was lightly dented from blocking a dozen strong blows, keeping that fearsome image still.

For a moment Sandor paused, seeming tempted to snap out an insult at the Lannister, only to mutter a low curse before backing off. He'd thickly spit up blood before shaking his head at Jaime. "Should just beat you to hell as well…problem is your father hang me for that…"

"Glad for your honesty Sandor." It seemed Jaime didn't take the threat personally, chalking it up to the Hound's temper.

"Where's Loras? Last I saaw he was clashing against you." Geralt questioned.

"If you're worried about the Tyrell then you don't need to worry." Jaimed stretched his right arm, the shoulder piece dented from a quite strong mace blow. "He was tough despite his looks. Matched up against me and a few others for quite a while. I sent him away with a few good cuts…nothing too scarring I'd say."

For a long moment Geralt stood by, knowing well what this meant. "So that leaves just you and me then."

Jaime's face lost its smug look, a more serious gleam showing in those eyes. "Indeed it is."

For a moment it was silent on the field, the only noise being the crowds cheering on, calling out for the White Wolf and Kingslayer. Slowly the remaining knights along with even Thoros and Sandor backed off, everyone sensing the fierce tension building up.

"Are you really that confident still? I just beat the Mountain…someone even you seemed hesitant to face."

"Heh…true." Jaime glanced down, focusing on Gregor's discarded helm. "I have faced him plenty of times. Be it on the joust or mock battles, I felt he held back just ever so slightly against me…or maybe I was just that on guard with his brutality." For a moment he'd pause, looking back up at Geralt. "Seeing you fight though reminded me why I wished to be knight…the conviction to face any challenge no matter how impossible."

"I'd rather not hurt you Jaime. You're sister and father may disapprove." Geralt muttered, shifting to a low battle stance.

"Heh…no doubt. This isn't about them though but me. This is about my honor…my ambition." He'd lift up his helmet, fitting it over his head. "That is why I must beat you Geralt of Rivia. For you are my final challenge…my dragon to slay. The final proof that I am worthy of the title of the greatest swordsman of Westeros." He'd take a strong stance, roaring lion shield forward and sword out at his side.

"So be it." Geralt muttered. At first he thought this was just the young man's ego, yet the short look of those eyes…he knew Jaime was serious. There be no more smug jests or boasts, he would truly face the might of the young Lannister. "Expect no mercy Ser Jaime…"

"I expect nothing less! Come White Wolf…Hear Me Roar!"

With that both rushed forward, both giving a fierce short yell before reaching each other, sword slashing out for greatest duel to grace Westeros for so many years.

…

 **Notice: An epic cliffhanger don't you think? I can say this chapter has been hard to write considering it's my first prolonged action scene. I must have rewrote it three times over. Hard to detail such fighting while trying not to be too repetitive with actions, movements and so on. I hope I did the Geralt and Mountain fight properly since in the end Geralt would never fight the Mountain head on, yet use tactics before all else. Share what you though about this grand fight and the next that will follow.**


	19. S1-E18: Old Wolf and Young Lion

**Chapter 18: Old Wolf and Young Lion**

…

Geralt and Jaime quickly closed the distance between each other, weapons raised for the incoming clash. The Witcher had to admit the young knight was fast even with all that armor on, making him note that Jaime wouldn't be as predictable when it came to his movement like Gregor. Reaching striking distance, Geralt at first seemed ready for a lunging stab, only it was a feint for his real opening attack. Suddenly he'd twist about redirecting his momentum as he'd step around to the right side of Jaime to bypass his strong shield.

Normally such a deception would catch most opponents off-guard considering the speed behind the attack. Seemingly, Jaime reacted as he too turn with his shield up to block that incoming slash while swinging his own sword as well. Once more Geralt was caught off guard by Jaime's speed, as he'd barely had enough time to lean away from that sweeping blade. Jaime didn't relent though as he followed up with a shield blow, the strong metal bashing across Witcher's chest and shoving him backward roughly.

Despite the blow Geralt kept his footing and shifted away to catch his breath, while Jaime stayed back, guard up for any sudden counters. For a moment the two just had a stare down, those few seconds of battle already having them strategizing over their next moves. In the background though yells and cheers from the crowds filled the air after seeing that lightening quick clash.

Slowly both men circled about, closely watching each other's stance and weapons positions, trying to figure out what move the other do next. Geralt right then knew Jaime had planned well for this battle. For one that shield was the biggest threat toward him, since unlike the ones the other knights had used, this one was doubly reinforced. He doubted his blade could break through all that plating and toughened wood behind it.

Suddenly Jaime charged forward, shield forward in a charge before turning at Geralt's right side. The Witcher was on the move, trying to keep some distance from that shield yet Jaime's blade slowed him down. For a while the two began to trade blows, back pedaling and lunging for the attack, directions shifting constantly to gain a more favorable position. Every so often they'd trade glancing blows. A nicked cut at an exposed angle, an armored punch or for the Witcher's annoyance a forceful strike by that shield. Neither was gaining an edge, though as time passed Geralt started to realize Jaime was getting his movement pattern down, reacting faster and avoiding any other feints. Already he knew his usual approach wasn't going to work at this rate.

The two rushed in at the same time, blades locking to stop each other while that shield swung in for Geralt's face. His left armored arm raised up, the toughened bracer blocking the blow even if the force made him grunt in pain. It took all of his arm strength just to keep that shield and sword back. The Witcher would suddenly strike out though with his right knee the steeled plating on his leggings drawing a winded grunt from Jaime and forcing the knight back. He was stunned for only a moment, giving Geralt time to back off and catch his breath.

Neither said anything, giving no jests or insults as they stood by, doing a short stretch after that clash. Right now Geralt was thinking over his choices…all of them requiring a Sign just to break such perfect defense. That made him realize just how much he relied on his magical skills to overcome such odds. No…he had to win by sword skill alone. At that moment he understood what he had to do as he'd glance at Jaime's shield, a small smirk hinting his lips. The young knight had a questioning look but said nothing as he'd raise up his guard, expecting the Witcher to do an opening attack.

By now their short pause ended as Geralt took the first step forward, going directly at Jaime at first before suddenly weaving to the left, lashing out at the knight's shield. Jaime guarded the quick attack before turning about to face the Witcher, trying to force him back with his blade or shoved away the shield. Geralt kept up the attack, starting to spin and twist rapidly as he used the whirl technique. It left his defenses low, while forcing Jaime fully onto defense to ward off the fury of blows.

Jaime held his ground, having a tense look showing from under that helmet as his shield arm lowered more and more. Geralt's gambit had been right, even though the shield could block his attacks, constant blows rattled through his arm, straining the limb constantly. Soon, Jaime was forced back one step then another as rapid strikes kept going, chipping and denting the metal facing of the shield which it held strong still. Geralt was starting to feel the stress of maintaining the whirl for so long, even with adrenaline driving him on. Overall it was a test of endurance between the two.

Suddenly the constant attacks stopped as Geralt twist about for a round-house kick. Putting all his strength and momentum forward as he aimed at the center of the shield, just over where Jaime's arm was braced. The young knight gave a gasp of pain as the stress snapped through him, making his arm reel back as his strong defense was broken. Shock showed in Jaime's eyes as the Witcher lunged in, sword stabbing out at the knight's right side, the sharp blade piercing through the fine golden armor with little difficultly.

A shocked grunt escaped from Jaime as weapon just pierce the skin, yet he'd slash out with his sword to force Geralt away. The Witcher relaxed his fighting stance slightly as Jaime caught his breath, glancing down at shallow wound before giving a chuckle. "Heh…been a long time since I saw my own blood."

"Can stop right now." Geralt calmly stated. "I've drawn first blood, so there be no shame in yielding."

"You'd be right." Jaime chuckled, seeming hardly fazed by his light injuries. "What gave you the idea to attack so recklessly?"

"Thoros."

"Ah…make sense. He tactics while simple, are effective at times." The young knight suddenly removed the heater shield, dropping it with a sigh before he'd stretch his arm, flexing his grip to make sure there was no issues. "However I'm not yielding. This battle has only gotten started." The man shifted his stance, gripping his blade in both hands. "So long as I can hold a sword, I will not give up willingly."

"Stubborn…" Geralt muttered, expected nothing less from the talented young man. For a moment he debated how to begin their next round of dueling. Already he learned a lot from their first round but noticed Jaime's style had changed just from how his stance shifted and the way he gripped his sword. Meanwhile the young knight understood his moves, leaving him at a disadvantage. He half expected Jaime to charge in while he strategize, yet the knight didn't. Perhaps it was his sense of honor or perhaps he wanted the Witcher to make the opening attack so he could counter it. A realization hit him as he knew that he needed to fight in a manner no one had seen him do.

Geralt shifted his left hand to his back, reaching for his silver blade. If anything what he was about to do was reckless. "In that case its time you face my silver blade as well." The gleaming sword was draw out from its sheath before the Witcher spun in about in his grip. Vesemir never approved of the duel-wield style, said it was too flashy and pointless from his point of view and only good for short sudden attacks. Geralt only used it for finisher moves or facing groups, though he felt in this case the rarely seen style would give him an edge.

Jaime reacted oddly seeing the two swords, his stance seeming to falter for a short moment. His eyes betrayed a hint of shocked recognition as he watched Geralt pace forward, swords swinging and spinning about in his hands in a quite intimidating display. Soon though that gaze became tense, a hint of excitement now showing. "Yes…you are exactly like him." Jaime muttered before reaching back, drawing a side weapon he had on his belt, a long dirk by the looks of it. "Been preparing for this day for years. It's time I put this plan to the test." Again he shifted his stance, sword forward and dirk back at his side, a proper duelist stance.

The Witcher was curious, unsure of what Jaime meant or the plan he seeming had. That alone had him even more on guard as both men circled each other. The crowd seemed restless with all this delaying, unknowing at just how tense this short standoff was. Either by chance or reaction both stepped in at the same times to attack.

Geralt did a short leap as he spun both blades about in a deadly arc, forcing Jaime to back step while he had his own weapons wards away those quick swords. The Witcher was constantly flowing into another sweeping attack, swords moving in a slashing cross pattern or in one direction for powerful duel blows. However Jaime was matching up as he'd block and parry about, putting that dirk to good use. It was a cunning replacement for his lowered defense and was a far more deadly weapon than the discarded shield.

A good few minutes passed as the two battled, their styles being equally matched as before. Every so often they'd trade blows, from Geralt's steel blade cutting at the front of Jaime's armor or the young knight's dirk just getting a short stab at the Witcher's side. That white cloak Jaime wore was ripped up and his armor was being rent apart by those sharp blades chipping at it. They weren't pulling their attacks now, too driven to win this duel. All their injuries were minor, yet they were building up as the two fought more aggressively and the prolonged fight began tire them. Geralt was use to drawn out battles, thinking back to a battle against a unique Fiend called Morvudd, who he fought for nearly half a day in its hidden den. Of course in that fight he had half a dozen potions prepared and his defensive Signs to aid him.

Jaime was starting to slow down and was focusing more on evading attacks instead of parrying. His gaze kept that determined fierceness, showing that he was unweaving despite the growing odds.

"Give up Jaime. You've fought well but you can't outlast me." Geralt warned as he'd ready both swords for his next attack. He'd gave a fierce yell as he'd charge in again, barrowing from Thoros to be more intimidating. Jaime stood his ground as one sword slashed down overhead while the other stabbed forward, forcing the knight to use his long sword to block the high strike and the dirk to parry the stab. Instead of backing off to attack for another angle, Geralt pressed in, shoulder tackling into Jaime.

"What-!?"

Jaime didn't get another word out as the Witcher's armored knee drove into his gut, knocking the wind out of the knight. There was one thing that Geralt had realized with Jaime, he didn't understand that in a true battle, rougher and lowly tactics were allowed. Thoros had been a reminder of that. Geralt had been too distracted by formal battles and practice fights. Even during the Melee he knew he had been refraining from more brutish moves when they would have made certain moments easier.

"Like I said…no mercy!" He'd growl as he'd side step to the right and attack at Jaime's side, landing a solid blow which cut through the gold plating and along the skin.

Despite the stunning blow Jaime turn away and gave a broad slash with his sword, Geralt blocked it with one blade before stepped forward again for another stab. The short distance gave Jaime little room for him to parry with his dirk. He'd drop the weapon before his armored hand grasped at Geralt's wrist, just stopping the blade by mere inches. It was now as struggle as the two were locked in a grapple, their long swords trapped in a clash, while Jaime struggled to keep the silver blade from him.

Once again though Geralt did the unexpected as his head arched back before he lashed out in a headbutt, striking at Jaime's full helm. It hurt like hell striking metal and his vision blared from the tense pain in his skull. Even blood trailed down his forehead from an open gash. The blow though staggered Jaime and shifted his helmet about, partly blinding him as the knight moved his free hand to tug the helm off his head. Gasping, he'd stare at Geralt as both quickly recovered from the head blow.

"A low move…" He growled in a hint of anger.

"Call it improvising." Geralt muttered back, giving a small smirk. "That is how a real fight goes…perhaps you've forgotten that."

Jaime gripped his sword tightly, holding it in both hands as he'd take a strong stance. "Enough. Let us end this now…"

"Yes…lets!"

The Witcher had Jaime exposed right then. With that helmet off, it be easier to end this battle in a moment's notice. Geralt quickly closed the distance, blades outward at his sides while Jaime stood there on guard, prepared for a reaction strike. At the last moment Geralt put his inhuman speed forward for just a moment, outmatching Jaime's honed reactions by little more than milliseconds. Jaime still slashed out only for the silver sword to parry it aside then direct it down to the ground, pinning it into the earth. The steel blade swung downward for his neck, ready to press at Jaime's throat and forcing him to submit.

Instead blood and a pained cry filled the air. Gasps escaped from the watching knights and crowds, everyone surprised at what had just happened, even Geralt having a shocked look replace his fierce expression. At that last moment Jaime had struggled forward, leaning in just enough for that blade to slice across the left side of his face. The deep cut went from his brow, down the cheek to his jaw, narrowing missing going across his eye. The Lannister gave shaky breaths and grunts of pain as blood trailed down his head.

"NO!" A woman's voice screamed out over sounds of the crowd, making Geralt look to the royal stands to see Queen Cersei standing up from her seat, only being kept back as one of the King's Guard held her back. She'd struggle and yell out orders, though it was too hard to make out her words among all the noise. Lord Tywin was also standing, trying to get a better look at what had happened. He seemed tense over what was happening but remained quite calm unlike his daughter.

Suddenly Geralt felt a hand grasp at his right wrist. His attention returned to Jaime who took deep steady breaths, still seemingly having the will to fight on despite the painful wound. Slowly he'd force that arm away and off to the side while he's struggle up to stand up to look Geralt in the eyes. For a moment he seemed ready to say something before someone else interrupted him.

"Enough! This fight has gone on long enough!" Tyrion yelled as his horse came to a quick stop beside them. Two city watch were right behind the dwarf along with four squires who already had a stretcher and basic medical supplies on hand. "I will not have you two kill each other over petty pride! Look at yourselves!"

For a moment the tension faded as both men looked at each other, blood and dirt coated their armor, showing how long they had been battling. Indeed the ache of fighting for at least two hours creeped in, a realization of just how long the Melee had been. Slowly Jaime's grasp weakened before slipping away, the man staggered back as he'd at last let go of his sword still pinned to the ground. For a moment Jaime swayed on his feet, breathing deeply while blood dripped heavily down his cheek and chin. His gaze seemed distant for a moment as he seemed ready to topple.

"Hey!" Geralt dropped his silver blade as his hand grabbed the knight at the shoulder, supporting him up as he was about to lose balance. "Stay awake! Just hold out a bit longer."

Those words seemed to snap the Lannister to attention, making him glance at Geralt's face even as blood coated onto his left eye. He'd just nod, knowing he had to stay strong for the crowds.

"Good people…both common and noble! The Melee is finished and we have our champion!" Tyrion spoke up loudly. "In a grand clash between Jaime Lannister of the King's Guard and Geralt of Rivia…I proclaim the Witcher the victor!"

The masses cheered out, chants for Geralt and Witcher filling the air. Jaime gripped Geralt's arm holding it upward with what strength he had, catching the Witcher off guard. If anything he felt awkward at this moment, never thinking he'd be winner of a royal tournament. Glancing to Jaime, the man gave a short nod before the knight let go of his arm, again slumping as the injuries and exhaustion took its toll. Geralt shifted to support Jaime up a bit longer as the squires hurried over to lead the knight away, Jaime shaking his head to refuse being carried out on a stretcher. The squires would support Jaime up as he'd stagger off the field for the Maester tent.

Despite how no words were shared, a deep respect was shared in that short moment. The Witcher couldn't deny he had met a formable match, even if it was limited to just pure swordsmanship. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts as Tyrion rode up to him, giving a prod at his shoulder.

"Don't pass out yourself Geralt. You seemed lost for a moment."

"No…just thinking."

"Try to look lively at least until you return to your tent. If anything you could do with a care with those cuts."

Geralt shrugged. "This is minor to what I've had, yet thanks for the concern. I can treat myself." He'd pick up his blades, cleaning them off with a rag before sheathed in. The whole time the crowd cheered on, even though he was too tired to pander to them.

"Please everyone! Your champion is wary and needs his well-deserved rest! Sadly, we will have to skip ceremony for this occasion. For now please, go enjoy the fair grounds for rest of the day." Tyrion declared, settling the crowd as they'd begin to file out from the stands.

Giving a thankful nod to the dwarf, Geralt hurried across the field for the tents, no one stopping him although a few knights gave respectful nods and short goodbyes to him. Even the nearby commoners gave him some space, looks of wonder showing as they watched the man who bested the Mountain and the King Slayer. Already the Witcher had a feeling plenty of songs and grand tales were going to spread around over night

 **...**

The walk back was a blur to him as he'd arrive at his tent, slinging his blades off his back before going to the storage chest. Opening it, he'd grab a Swallow potion and gulp it down, giving a deep sigh as the potent mixture coursed through his body, dulling the pain as it began the steady process of mending him.

Removing his armor and bloodied cut up clothes, changing into a pair of fresh pants before collecting some water and rags to clean himself up. Wiping off blood, sweat and dirt, he'd pause as he heard someone nearing his tent before continued.

"May I enter Geralt?" Lord Baelish spoke out behind the tent flap.

There was silence for a moment. "Fine…come in."

Littlefinger entered the tent, his gaze quickly set on the Witcher as he'd see the many scars that covered his body. Claw marks, bite prints, sword cuts and stab wounds marred his pale skin, a brutal physical history of Geralt's dangerous life style.

"I'm no man of warfare…yet can't imagine how anyone would endure so many wounds." Petyr muttered.

"Always been a survivor." Geralt answered back as he'd get a dry rag to finish cleaning himself off. "Can say Ser Jaime pushed me for the first time in months."

"It was indeed a fantastic duel between you two, along of course toppling the infamous Mountain. You've accomplished more then what most men would ever believe."

"I take you were doubtful of my success?"

"To a degree. Rumor and claim can only go so far. I can say I lost at least one bet I made…not a serious lost considering my other winnings."

Geralt sighed as he'd toss the last rag aside. "And the point? I take you didn't come here to have a friendly chat over your betting habits."

"True…I wished to inform you that Lady Stark has been safely escorted out of the city. My agents reported this to me not long after the Melee ended."

"Good. Glad that is one matter taken care of. Anything else?"

Baelish paced around the tent, gaze looking to the swords set nearby. "I am curious about your investigations as well. Have you confronted Tyrion yet?"

"Yes." Geralt simply answered

"And?"

"He claims to have never won the dagger." The Witcher grabbed the sheathed weapon, holding it up for emphasis. "Said he saw you handing it off to King Robert after his son's naming day tournament."

"An interesting story."

"You deny it?"

"I think you're being too trusting to the dwarf's answers."

Geralt's gaze narrowed at how Baelish avoided a straight answer. "I can say I trust him more then you."

Petyr chuckled at the Witcher's answer, giving a small shrug in response. "True, but have you never considered that Tyrion maybe using you for his own ends? Using that trust to mislead you?"

Suddenly Littlefinger was shoved up to one of the posts supporting the tent, Geralt's hand at his neck much like Ned's had been outside the brothel. A shocked look showed on Petyr's face as he'd gasp out, grasping at the Witcher's strong grip.

"You know…Lord Stark was right about you. You're a funny man." Geralt muttered coldly. "Why so focused on putting suspicion on Tyrion? Some grudge between you."

"Ugh…no…you're misunderstanding!" Baelish gasped out.

"Really now?" He'd lift the man a foot off the ground, making Petyr struggle more. "Because misleading me would be an unwise choice. After what you saw today you'd know that by now." Suddenly, he'd let go, dropping the lord down onto his knees. "Now the truth."

Taking a few shaky breaths, Baelish nodded as he'd stand up and straighten himself. He did well to hide his shaken look on his face after taking a moment to calm himself. "I'll admit, Tyrion and I have had a rivalry at times. However my reasons were for the King's wellbeing…"

"Wellbeing?"

"If you had learned immediately about Robert's ownership of the dagger, you may have reacted hastily at least from my point of view. We have only known each other for a short while and after seeing your first encounter with the King during the Small Council…it was obvious he and you don't see eye to eye."

Geralt had to admit the man had a fair point, even if it was grudgingly. "So why the false story on Tyrion?"

"Because he'd tell the truth, one that you'd know for certain was true. Again I am sorry for misleading on the matter, I had to be sure you'd approach things in a reasonable matter."

Despite the man's answer, Geralt didn't fully buy the whole being tested claim. However he didn't speak openly against it, although his sharp eyes no doubt showed the distrust he felt. "So then…you betted the dagger to Robert, which he won. I doubt though he'd hire an assassin to kill his best friend's son, much less in a clumsy manner."

"Yet a lot of people close to him would no doubt have access to it. What if the King had gifted it to a friend or someone within the family?"

"Does thin out the list…" Already he was thinking over possible suspects and possible motives.

Cersei didn't seem the type to be gifted a dagger and was far from foolish enough to give it to an assassin, even if Bran may have seen her cheating with someone else. Jaime was a fitting choice, but he and Robert don't seem to be friends, being more of a professional level between King and royal guard. Neither of Robert's brothers where at Winterfell and they don't seem to have a good bond with their eldest brother. That left only one individual…one that be foolish enough to set up the assassination.

"Going to need to talk to the King before I decide on anything."

Petyr seemed to realize Geralt had some kind of revelation yet didn't question the Witcher on the matter. "That maybe simple considering. The King may very well invite you for dinner tonight…that is if the queen allows it."

Already Geralt remembered that horrible cry she had made when she had thought her brother had been cut down. "Guess he'll send someone for me if that happens."

"I'd be on my guard if I were you. If you didn't have everyone's attention before you will now after your grand victory. Watch yourself among the nobility."

"I can handle myself."

"Heh…I have no doubts about that." The man paced for the tent flap out, stopping just before it. "Is there anything else I can do for you though? Perhaps there is something I can do to help."

Geralt didn't answer at first, not wanting to openly ask help from the smug nobleman. "Just keep an ear to the ground for anything odd. Maybe you can keep me informed of Gregor if he somehow recovers quickly and tries anything."

"Simple enough. Ah right…should see Tyrion later as well once things settle down. After all you do have your reward to pick up." Giving a short bow, Petyr moved to leave. "Enjoy your evening Ser Geralt."

Watching the man step out, he'd sigh in annoyance. "Slippery bastard…" It was like dealing with sneaky manners of Dijkstra and the politic bullshit of Shilard. Deep down he knew the man was helping for his own ends, yet what he wasn't certain. Despite the distrust he was an ally Eddard if things in court took a bad turn. Already all the worrying tired him, as if the soreness of battle wasn't enough. Getting a blanket to lay on the ground, he'd shift down to meditate, wanting to at least quickly pass the time until the evening when Tyrion and other others would be finished with their duties.

Taking a deep breath, he'd calm himself and close his eyes as he entered his trance, enjoying what short peace he had for the rest of the day.

…

"Ser Geralt?"

A young male voice snapped the Witcher out of his deep meditation, making him open his yellow cat like eyes to see who disturbed him. He'd quickly recognize it was Robert's squire, the Lannister boy who seemed a bit short witted at times. Seeing Geralt's gaze had the squire flinch, no doubt finding those eyes a bit unsettling up close.

"Yes?"

"Uhh…I have a message from Lord Tywin Lannister. He wishes to speak with you on some important matters."

Geralt didn't answer, only staring at the squire with an unblinking gaze before giving a small sigh. He guessed Tywin would have arranged a meeting, even more considering the outcome of the Melee. While it was tempting to simply refuse, he guessed it was best to not annoy the powerful noble. Besides, he felt Tywin could give him new leads or insight into his investigation.

"Very well." Geralt shifted up to stand, stretching a bit to loosen up. "Lead the way."

The Lannister squire nodded as he'd turnabout and head outside, the Witcher following close behind. Outside the noises of the tourney festivities quickly surrounded the two as they'd stroll through the private camp grounds with the laughter, chatter and music from the fairgrounds filling the air. It seemed everyone was enjoying the last free food and drink Lord Stark had offered up, a last call for merriment for the night.

"Everyone has been talking about you're victory sir." The Lannister squire suddenly remarked. "I saw the whole Melee…it was astounding really. They're already working on some songs for you, the commoners I mean."

"The bold heroic type or dark and brooding? That's how most songs on Witchers go." Geralt asked, dry sarcasm hinted in his words.

"Why dark and brooding? Your countrymen must have an odd view about you." The squire questioned, obviously not getting the Witcher's jest.

"Never mind. Anyway are we close?"

"Ah…right! Just here sir." The squire pointed out a red and gold trimmed tent, an obvious sign of it being Lord Tywin's encampment. Besides the entrance were two of the lord's honor guard who were dressed in quite fine and unique styled armor. Approaching the entrance, they'd suddenly bar the way with their spears, making the squire gulp nervously. They'd look at the squire then Geralt, a hint of respect showing as they nodded to him.

"Ser Geralt. We're sorry but you will need to wait for a while. Queen Cersei is busy speaking with her father privately." One of the guard's remarked.

"No worries. I can wait." Looking to the squire, he'd continue to speak. "Anyway thank you for guiding the way. Uh…what was your name again?" Thinking about it, no one ever spoke the Lannister's first name at all.

"Lancel ser."

"Try to relax a bit this evening. Not often anyone can enjoy a tourney feast after all."

The young man nodded, giving a thankful grin. "You're right ser. After all it may be me who'll win his own joust or melee someday." Seemed the squire had quite the ambition hidden away.

"One step at a time. Anyway go on." Geralt warned before the squire nodded and hurried off into the maze of tents. The Witcher's attention focused back to Tywin's tent, curious at what he and his daughter were discussing. The guards seemed focused on watching the main entrance, not paying too much attention to him while they idly chattered. He saw this as a good opportunity to eavesdrop, if he could get close enough for his sharp hearing to catch in. Pacing around the side of the tent discretely, he'd hone his senses as he'd shut out the many other noises. With some effort, he'd soon could pick out Cersei's and Tywin's voice.

"He's dangerous!" The queen remarked sharply, seeming to be in a heated argument with her father.

"Most men like him are…you're point being?" Tywin calmly questioned.

"My point? He scarred Jaime and he's been trouncing across all of King's Landing looking for something for the last few weeks. Always he's been constantly speaking between Lord Stark and Tyrion. They are planning something…scheming…"

"Or you are being paranoid." Tywin muttered sternly. "Firstly, has Jaime even complained about his injury? I take he's being given the best care."

Cersei paused before answering. "The Maesters say he's injuries are minor, though the wound on his face will have scarring. He…hasn't complained about that news."

"So there. If he isn't bothered then neither will I. He understands the risks any battle brings and if anything a scar is a blessing to the crippling Gregor received."

For a moment it sounded as if the queen gave a low hiss of anger. "What happened to all that talk of family pride? Some foreign stranger wounds your favored son and you simply let him by."

"If you are so eager to avenge Jaime's honor then you may gladly pick up a sword and challenge Ser Geralt." Tywin snapped back, leaving Cersei silent now. "You're emotions are blinding you Cersei. Do not underestimate the man, he's a calculating professional, not some short sighted sellsword. He understands how the intrigues of the court, maybe even better then you if he has you this concerned."

"It is about Jon Arryn's passing. From what I've learned he has been prying deeper into the previous Hand's death."

"Which we had nothing to do with…if anything learning the truth would be desired. Jon was a valuable member of the Court. He managed the Kingdoms well and organized your position as queen. With his questionable passing, Lord Stark has plenty of reason to suspect us and in turn the Witcher as well. Acting rashly won't help our case of innocence."

"What if he frames us or-"

"He won't."

"Again you are so certain."

"Because I am. Just one look at the man I could tell he is someone who puts truth before all else." There'd be a tense pause before he'd continue to speak. "Now if there is nothing else you will leave."

Cersei was silent, making Geralt wonder if she'd snap back at her father for his blunt dismissal. However she'd gave a low sigh before hurrying for the way out. Keeping hidden, he'd see her hurry off and out of sight, giving him a chance to step out of hiding.

"Curious…" It seemed Tywin and Cersei didn't see eye to eye, along with the fact the lord was just as interested in knowing the truth about the late Hand's passing.

Approaching the guards, they'd move their spears to unbar the way into the large tent. The main space felt more suited for wartime, having hanging banners of the rearing roaring lion of the Lannister's along with a large table set in the center of the space with a large map of the Seven Kingdoms set on top of it. At the head seat sat Lord Tywin, the older lord dressed still in fine plain clothes for the evening. Those calm judging eyes focused in on the Witcher, that same gaze Emhyr always gave.

"I apologize for the wait Geralt. Family matters with my daughter." The man simply stated as the Witcher pulled up a seat a few spots away from Tywin.

"Must be quite important for you to have invited me so suddenly and dismiss the queen." The Witcher questioned.

"A formality really. Your success in the Melee earned my respect and interest, something that isn't easily earned."

"No hard feelings over Gregor or Jaime?"

"Gregor…he is one our strongest and most loyal warriors who served well during the Rebellion. If he had a sense of self control and respect he'd be the perfect knight, yet such qualities are rare for those with his history." Tyrion paused for a moment, seeming to ponder a bit before continuing. "Few would dare face Gregor like you have and they usual have a reason. You though fought and bested him with ease, fearless despite his reputation."

"Because I've killed a dozen 'Mountains' back home. Only difference is that he has the title of knight to excuse his crimes." The Witcher simply stated.

"His actions during the end of the Rebellion did…complicate matters. The Martells of Dorne have long demanded retribution for years for the killing Elia during the sacking of the capital. I never ordered or accepted the death of her or her children, even if Robert agreed to a degree. What is done is done…as can be said now."

Geralt decided not to argue on mortally about Gregor since it seemed Tywin knew just how much of a monster the Clegane was. "So what is his condition anyway?"

"Stable, however his injuries will be long term. When he woke up in the middle of getting his leg stitched together, he went into a rage. Nearly strangled a Maester and crushed a squire's skull as they tried to restrain him. Took half a dozen men and enough sedative to drop an ox to calm him. Overall the Maesters doubt he will heal properly considering the precise wounds and the stress he put on them. He'll be lucky to walk and wield a sword properly again."

The Witcher didn't respond, having nothing to say on the matter, his calm gaze hinted that the cold satisfaction knowing Gregor's fate. "And Jaime?"

"Well enough. A few days and he'll be at full condition, although he'll have scarred from the slash along the face. A small price to pay for experience."

"He's a gifted swordsman. Been a long time since anyone has pushed me that far in a fight."

A hint of pride showed in Tywin's eyes, yet the man kept that calm demeanor well enough. "Jaime is the pride of my House, even if his potential is being wasted guarding kings. One day Robert will see fit to dismiss him and let him take his proper place leading Casterly Rock."

"Seems odd you want him to take up lordship. Your family already is in line to becoming Westeros's rulers after all."

"True…yet I'll not have our legacy limited to that. I've worked long and hard to get my family to the position of power it is in now and I expect my children to take their rightful places as well."

He was just like Emhyr in mind set. That sense of his choices being the right ones and how everyone needed to obey them. If anything Tywin's aspirations were very much the same as the emperor's, to create a dynasty of power that his bloodline would dominate. "Fascinating as this is, I feel you didn't invite me here to share family history Lord Tywin."

"No but it is to make a point." The man stated quite sternly. "The matter is you're an oddity, someone will skills to outmatch the greatest knights in the land and having a sharp if blunt cunning within the court, all while being common born. I thought it was simply rumors, yet you've easily proven otherwise. Many see you as a threat and others a tool for their own ends. I question if you know who considers you as such."

Geralt was silent for a long moment, knowing well what Tywin was trying to do. "And what do you consider me then? A threat or 'tool' as you say."

"A possible ally." He'd simply answer back, catching Geralt a bit off guard.

"That suddenly? I've heard many things about you Lord Tywin, easily trusting isn't one of them."

"For this I feel an exception can be made. As I said before Geralt you have the rare quality of being truly honest which I respect. You speak what you believe and let no one dissuade you, be it men like Gregor or even King Robert."

For a moment the Witcher thought over Tywin's words, his yellow eyes glaring for a moment. "Then let me be honest with you now. The answer is no. I'm not someone you can hire or convince to join your 'side'. You may have claim to respect me, for me I value trust as well, which you haven't earned. After all I've taken my time to learn of your history and past…a long history of betrayals considering."

Tywin silently listened, Geralt could tell his words had struck a nerve with him. "So do you think trustworthiness and honor is enough? Eddard's father and brother followed those beliefs and died because of it. Lord Stark has that same mind set which will drag you down."

"I've heard that many times Lord Tywin…hasn't killed me yet." A small smirk hinted his lips as he'd shift to stand up. "For now though I think it's time I left. This has been an insightful conversation though."

"Indeed." Tywin muttered, giving that cold look to the Witcher. "I do wish you fortune in learning the truth of Jon Arryn…and the misfortune to young Bran Stark, the attempt on his life is troubling news."

What surprised Geralt on that mention was Tywin's knowledge of it. Few knew of the assassination attempt beyond the Stark family and the few involved in the investigation. For a moment he looked at Tywin, realizing the man was far more informed then he originally thought. Already he questioned if he learned of this somehow through family agents…or if someone involved in the case had leaked the news.

"Goodnight Lord Lannister." With that he'd leave the large tent, eager to escape the cold judging gaze of Tywin. It was for certain though, he already disliked the man greatly and knew that out of all the nobles in King's Landing he was by far the most dangerous one about.

…

The walk back to tent was short since Geralt ignored anyone who tried to get in his way. A few nobles or stray commoners did greet him, though the serious look on his face was enough to dissuade them away. Already the Witcher was thinking over all the conversation he had overheard between Tywin and Cersei along with his chat with the noble. All it did was cement his distrust towards both the Lannister patriarch and the queen, who both seemed focused on the political game happening in the shadows. It seemed obvious neither truly knew who was behind Jon Arryn's death, but they were obviously working towards a power grab with his passing. Yet what or how was the real question.

Entering his tent, he'd snap out of his thoughts when he saw someone pacing around the table, making Geralt tense for a moment before recognizing who it was. "Davos?"

The sea captain glanced to Geralt before giving a big friendly grin and stepped forward for a quick hand shake. "Congratulations on the victory Geralt. Gods it was a battle of a lifetime seeing you take down the Mountain and the King Slayer. I'm sorry I couldn't speak to you sooner, just you ran off so quickly after the Melee. I assumed you needed the rest."

"What about Lord Eddard?"

"He's retired for the night along with his daughters. Shared a fine dinner with all three, can say the girls are quite the unique pair…if quite contrasting. Arya won't stop remarking about every move you pulled out in detail. Girl has a sharp eye and mind to have noticed everything from so far."

"A bit of natural talent I think. She's proven that after just a few sword lessons." Geralt remarked in agreement. "Still, why the late visit? I'd imagine you'd be back in the city and to your ship."

"Aye you'd think that…however the matter at hand is very political." Glancing a bit, he'd lean in to mutter. "Uh…there isn't anyone over hearing us is there?"

For a moment Geralt paused as he'd slowly pace around the tent, his hone senses listening for anyone lurking just outside. Once he did a full circle, he'd nod which made Davos relax before he'd speak again in a low voice.

"I'll admit Geralt. I have deceived you for a while."

"Deceived me on what?"

"My reason being here. It's beyond just trading and gathering ship supplies but spying. How well do you know about Lord Stannis, Robert's brother?"

"Only that he's the Master of Ships and what you've shared with me. Seems like he was a very upstanding if overly seriously lord from what I can tell. I know he left quite suddenly just days after Jon died."

"That be true. Despite rumors though, he's one of the most honest and dutiful men I've met in my life." Davos took a deep breath now, collecting himself. "Stannis left for Dragonstone because he knew Jon was close to finding the truth about the Lannisters, mainly that behind Queen Cersei."

"What truth?"

"Her children…he believed they weren't truly Robert's."

"So you mean he believed them to be bastards? That is a serious claim towards Lady Cersei to cheat and purposefully set those children up as false heirs. The problem is proving that."

"Which was why Stannis believed Jon Arryn was killed! The former Hand was close to having such evidence, enough that would have even Robert believe such claims. Stannis never learned what this proof was before fleeing to his Keep, which is why I've been visiting so often to try and find some trail to pick up on."

"Which I happened to be on…clever."

Davos nodded. "I was making plans to contact you when I learned you served for Lord Eddard, yet fate decided we'd met on different terms."

"So I take you've shared this information with Eddard was well?"

"Of course! If anything the news seemed to trouble him as he seemed to realize something. Mentioned something about a tome dedicated to the lineages of the great houses. Perhaps there was some clue in it that he recognized."

"Maybe. I'll have to ask him about it once we return to the keep." Geralt paused to think for a moment, wondering how to approach this. "If what you say is true then all that leaves is learning who the royal children's true father is."

"Stannis wasn't too certain himself. Again much of this search was done on Jon's part."

"What if they are wrong though? If anything I can see Stannis making such a claim just to discredit his brother's children and deny Joffrey his rightful place to the throne."

Davos had a bit of a baffled look at the suggestion. "Stannis would never grab for power in such an underhanded way. This man has struggled hard for all his life to get to where he is, even when he was denied the credit he was due for the blood and effort given. While he did demand to be recognized for his actions and birthright, he'd never stoop so low to steal for such power."

It was quite the impassioned speech and from the way Davos kept that unweaving look showed the captain meant every word.

"And I believe you. Again I'm just looking at this from all angles because if we make a mistake we'll have a lot of people being blamed and branded as traitors."

"With truth comes its risks." Davos sighed.

"Indeed. For now though just keep your Lord informed while Eddard and I focus on this matter. If something new does come up you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you. I value you're trust deeply Geralt."

Again they shook hands before the sea captain stepped back, giving a small yawn and stretch. "Secrets aside…I feel it's time I head back. Ugh…a long ride back to the ship that is for sure."

"Roads should be lit by this hours, so I'm sure you'll have no trouble. Still, watch yourself out there Seaworth."

"I will. You be mindful yourself." Turning to leave though, he'd nearly bump into a portly man dressed in tanned leather and a sizable head cap which covered most of his upper head, some courtier by the looks of it. "Ah! Apologies!"

"None needed sire. My mistake of rushing in unannounced." The man answered back formally.

Davos nodded, seeming in a hurry as he'd leave the tent with a short parting wave back to the Witcher. Geralt's attention though was set on the courtier who'd approach him.

"I have an important message from King Robert himself. He deeply apologizes for not being able to invite you for a private dinner tonight because of…complications. Thus he has requested you come with him on a royal hunt in three days' time."

"A hunt? Surprised he'd organize one so soon after the games." Geralt questioned "Care to explain that…Varys."

At that point the 'courtier' glanced up, an amused smile hinting his thin lips as the Master of Whispers better shared his face. Indeed he had put on some make up to disguise his soft features, yet Geralt's sharp eyes could see through it all.

"Impressive. What gave me away?"

"The perfume you have on. Same stuff you wore at the Small Council meeting. Very distinct scent considering."

"Nose is as sharp as your wit and eyes Witcher. As expected of a man of your many surprising talents." The spy master complimented, giving a cheer grin as well.

"So what brings you here? Doubt you played dress up just to watch the tourney without being hassled."

"This disguise has always been useful blending into such events. Let's me get by and overhear anything…suspicious that warrant my attention."

"Such as between me and Davos?"

"And Lord Tywin. I must say you walked a fine line speaking so openly with him, while not being too hostile." The added remark drew some surprise to the Witcher, questioning how the man got close enough to overhear. However he decided to not ask, feeling he'd just get a half answer on the matter.

"So then…what do you plan to do? Do you deem me a threat suddenly?"

"Not yet, although you've complicated matters through your victory at the Melee. By now it's obvious you're quite the deadly warrior, a literal one-man army from my point of view."

Geralt crossed his arms, a hint of annoyance on his face. "Getting to a point yet? If not, then I'd like you to leave…"

"It's about the claims Davos shared with you. In truth I've been following up on such rumors as well."

"Really now? So what do you believe in then?"

"Only that things in court and across the Seven Kingdoms will become quite chaotic, a situation I'd greatly wish to avoid." He'd turn to leave the tent, stopping at the flap. "Your answers are much closer than you think Geralt. Both you and Lord Stark have been looking too broadly. Sometimes the most complex answer is simply the one in front of you."

"Right…vague clues…my favorite spy trick." Geralt muttered as Varys slipped out of the tent. Only a few moments later did the bald man's head peek in quickly.

"Also I wasn't lying about King Robert's invitation. Hope your hunting skills are up to par." With a small polite smile, Varys slipped out of view once more, at last leaving the Witcher alone.

Geralt gave a deep sigh as he'd sit at his cot, eyes closing as he'd think deeply over the news and the spymaster's words. Already he was beginning to see a connection to it all. All it came down to King Robert himself giving the final pieces he needed to be certain and for Eddard to find whatever shocking link he had realized. If anything the invitation to the hunt was the perfect opportunity to privately question the King without being overheard and while he was in good spirits.

"All comes down to one point…" Geralt muttered to himself before glancing at the locked chest where Dragon Flag was tucked away. If the person he believed had owned the dagger back in Winterfell was who he thought it was, then things were only going to escalate no matter what. For now he'd relax on the cot, giving a sigh as the stressful day had taken its toll as he'd drift to sleep.

…

Many miles to the north west, a hard week's ride from King's Landing, the sound of digging tools and tired voices filled the air. On a tall bare hill famously known as High Heart, worn laborers heaved damp earth up around the center of large white wood stumps, the only remaining hints of the great weirwood grove that had crowned this hill. They were creating a wide deep pit, that could be easily be considered a pond if filled with water. Nearby, a large hut had been build or more of reconstructed considering the owner's demands.

Weavess spied on her slaves through the blinds of the window, knowing very well that most would parish within the week. It didn't matter, for in death their flesh would be of use for the coming rite, giving their lowly lives some last purpose. When she had sensed this place, she had been quick to halt her work on the tapestry and focus on using what weak willed followers she had to move to this sacred hill. She had communed with the dormant power, the ancient natural energy that was here. Such old history she had learned, giving her at last insight of this world's forgotten history and the foolish beings that tended these long-fallen trees.

"Oh how weak the Children were. Fearful and cowardly…having so much power in their grasp yet lacking will to use it." She chuckled to herself as she paced about the tapestry room, gazing at her beautiful work. Indeed the piece depicting the crones was nearly complete, the labor having been long yet worthwhile. "Yet I have the will. Yes…the time draws near when the dawn of flame breaks. With it the world with take's its first breath for a new age. From that we will be together against sisters…" Mournfully she'd caress the tapestry, touching the fine material with such care unfitting for such a clawed limb.

Outside there'd be more coughing then gasping as one of the labors suddenly collapsed, the fellow workers keeping back as he fell over twitching before being still. Everyone paused, hesitant at first before two labors picked up the dead worker and dragged him to the hut, laying it before the doorway. Once they had hurried off, the hag's gnarled hand yanked the corpse quickly inside, followed by the sickening crack of bone and the gory smack of bloody flesh being stripped away.

…


	20. S1-E19: The King's Hunt

**Chapter 19: The King's Hunt**

…

Morning seemed to arrive earlier then usually, yet Geralt blamed that on perception than anything else. Forcing himself out of his cot, he'd groan a bit as the lingering soreness from yesterday kicked in, even though the Swallow had done its job healing his durable body. A quick stretch eased some of the pain away before he'd change into his Witcher armor and begin the process of packing everything up for the return to the Red Keep. Outside he could hear the knights and servants working on preparing to leave, no doubt for the long rides back to their holds, although he was sure a good third would stay at King's Landing and muddle into court politics. Already he wondered if anyone he knew would remain, yet he wouldn't know for sure until later in the day.

Walking out of his tent, he'd carry off his heavy packs to the nearby stable stands were Roach stood by. Thinking can he remembered leaving the horse out at the Melee field, so he guessed a squire had brought her back. Of course could be that Roach returned on her own, since the horse had an odd happen of showing up even in the most distant of places. He didn't question it in this case as he'd slung the bags over the saddle before mounting up and guiding Roach forward, however instead of hurrying for the main road back to the city, he took a detour to the Stark's tent.

As he neared it, he'd see Eddard was busy directing his servants with packing everything up while his daughters were waiting close by, seeming quite sleeping having to be up earlier than usual. Arya though snapped to attention when she saw the Witcher, giving an excited grin as he nudged her sister before running towards Geralt.

"Geralt! Are you doing alright after the fight yesterday? I mean…father told me you were fine and we shouldn't bother you…even though we wanted you over for dinner." The girl remarked quickly.

"Slow down Arya. Chatter about that fast and you'll faint." Geralt chuckled.

"Sorry. Just…you beat the Mountain and the King Slay- I mean Ser Jaime. Was so hard to keep up on the last fight, yet it was amazing how fast you moved at the very end! Jaime was able to match up somehow despite all the odds."

By now Eddard would approach the two, chuckling as he'd ruffle the girl's hair a bit. "Best remember it well. I doubt you'll ever see a duel as grand as that. Anyway get you pony ready, we'll be heading out soon. You can pester him with questions at your next lesson."

Arya sighed yet nodded in agreement. Giving a small wave to Geralt, she'd hurry off back towards her sister who was already being helped up onto her own horse by a servant. Eddard watched his daughters for a moment before glancing back at the Witcher, a more serious look in his eyes.

"Did Davos tell you everything?"

Geralt simply nodded back as an answer.

"Won't be certain about my theory until this evening. If it is, then it will be a dire problem we'll all have to deal with."

"We've made it this far. Besides, the authority of the Hand should give us an edge."

"I hope so…because if our influence isn't enough then force will be our only choice."

Geralt smirked a bit despite the grim matter. "Thankfully you have me if that comes around."

"Which I'm thankful of. For now, try to relax and try to build up your favor with Robert. He told me about his plans going out on the hunt and if anything that maybe a blessing for us." Glancing to his daughters, he'd give a soft smile before giving a sigh. "I'll see you back at the Keep Geralt."

"Take care Ned." The Witcher turn Roach about as he'd ride out ahead, weaving through the maze of tents as he'd reach the main road. If anything he wanted to get back early to question a certain Maester before the Red Keep was crowded up once more. There was still a few more questions left and this time he wouldn't have anyone intruding like before.

…

The ride though King's Landing was quite active considering as it seemed like a mob of people were constantly pestering him. Already the news of his victory at the Melee and defeating the two most renowned warriors of the country had spread around. At times he'd hear someone yell out 'Witcher' or 'White Wolf' before a few cheers and friendly laughs followed up. It was odd to hear really, being more use to the spiteful remarks from back home, yet now he received respect and awe from the commoners.

Hurrying along before he got too much attention, he arrived at the Red Keep's gates and was let inside by the guards. Taking Roach to the stables, he'd grab his packs off the saddle before heading into the Keep from a side entrance, working his way to the guest quarters and his room. Once there, he'd quickly check his storage chest closely to ensure everything from his crafting materials and bombs were accounted for, knowing very well the risks of any of these items being stolen. It was a long process, yet it seemed nothing was missing after a detailed search. With that matter cleared, he'd gather a few herbs and vials before going to the nearby worktable he had set up to begin making some fresh Swallow. After using up a dose yesterday, he wanted to make sure he was fully stocked for any emergencies. Perhaps it was a bit over cautious, but such steps had saved his life many times. It only took a few minutes of time considering the simple process for the potion, which he'd pack away in the chest along with his silver blade.

"Now then…to visit the Maester." He muttered to himself before leaving the room, ensuring it was locked up securely.

From what he learned, the Maester laboratory was in the lower parts of the Red Keep, close to the cellars and the dungeons. It was a winding walk to the depths of the Keep, yet soon the familiar smells of alchemy oils and dusty parchment could be hinted in the air. Arriving at a sturdy doorway, he'd hear shuffling and the rattle of chains as Pycelle was no doubt busy working about in the next room. Giving a strong knock at the door, there'd be a small surprise gasp before the old man spoke out.

"Who is it?"

"It's Geralt, Grand Maester. I'm here to ask some more questions." He spoke out through the door.

There was a long pause before the Witcher heard the man approach the door and undo quite a number of locks to open it up. Once the door swung open, Geralt stepped through while Pycelle backed away, going down a small step of steps that lead down into the laboratory work space. It was an impressive set up, having top quality alchemical devices and a wide mix of crafting tools.

"Eh…I thought we already finished our questioning Witcher." The Maester muttered as he returned to an alembic which was connected to a retort, carefully monitoring the flow of fluids and the temperature from a nearby flame. "Ah and…congratulations on your victor at the Melee. An uhh…impressive display indeed. You at least gave the uh…other Maesters a chance to practice their m-medical skills, especially in Gregor's case."

"I take he needed some special treatment?"

"Obviously! Man maybe f-freakishly strong, yet he is limited by…uhh…human limits still. The muscle tearing required surgery to do. Very experimental work considering the lack of...living cases. Time will tell if the work is successful though."

"Enlightening. However I'd prefer we stay on topic." Geralt paced around the lab, eyeing a few dried insect and plant samples in pressed displays. "Few days back I asked you about Jon Arryn's death. You confirmed his passing wasn't natural yet from a rare poison."

"Ah yes…I remember that much. Tears of Lys." The Maester said with a small nod.

"You mentioned that some of it was missing before. Care to explain?"

The mention had a confused look cross the old man's face, no doubt his memory on that matter being muddled because of the Axii Sign forcing him to speak. "Odd. I can't say I remember mentioning that."

"Well you did…unless you claim otherwise." The Witcher's yellow eyes stared at the man in a judging manner, making the Maester shift nervously.

"Of c-course not! Look the matter is very troubling…if news got out of s-such a poison being loose in the Keep, there would have been a panic."

"That is understandable, yet doesn't change the fact Jon died because of it. Surely you have suspects, someone who asked about the Tears or knew about them."

Pycelle was silent as he'd think for a long moment. "Lord Baelish would know because any royal gifts such as the Tears would be cataloged in the treasury records. The Queen and King obvious k-know of it too. Jon also knew of it, even asked to have the poison…D-deposed of for safety reasons."

"Ironic. Anyone else?'

The Maester paused, before giving an odd look. "I do remember one strange visitor. Jon Arryn's wife visited at least once. Friendly yet skittish woman really."

"His wife?" Admittedly Geralt hadn't heard much of the woman, except she was Catelyn's sister and now the current ruler of the Eyrie now that her husband was dead. "Let me guess, she asked about poisons."

"Indeed. Claim she was worried her son ate something bad, some herb in the garden one day. She went on and on about it, asking if anything I had could be a cause. I guess at one point I mentioned the Tears, yet the conversation was a while back."

"So let's say she did steal it…how would she."

"Eh…most likely with her husband's key. The Hand of the King has access to poisons, of course after clearing the matter with me. I didn't get a chance to inform Jon Arryn of the theft before his rapid decline in health. Man could barely think clearly under the f-fever he had."

"Yet he didn't report his key missing?"

"None. Again…uhh…many uncertainties."

"Indeed. So then if his wife…uhh…what is her name?"

"Lady Lysa, Ser."

"What happened to Lysa during those last few weeks?"

"Ah…I can't say for sure. I only know she left right after his death, taking her umm…only son with her. Woman was very protective of the boy."

"Was anyone close to here? Anyone among the royalty or servants"

"The closest be Queen Cersei I'd think. The two c-chatted at times, yet over what I know little of."

Geralt sighed, wondering how he'd get any answers from the Queen considering her new found dislike towards him. He'd have to be careful with her, considering she may very well have had a hand in Jon's passing, considering the fear she had over the investigation. "Very well. Thank you for your time Maester." He'd give a short nod before moving to leave the lab.

"Of course…take care of yourself Ser Geralt." The Maester muttered, yet as the Witcher left he did notice the old man's calculating look just as he passed through the door. He had a feeling the old man was far more cunning then how he looked or acted. For now though, he decided to return to the upper floors to see if anyone else had returned from the tournament grounds.

…

Geralt headed to the main dining hall, hoping to get some food and run into anyone from the tourney. Indeed entering the hall he'd quickly hear a familiar booming voice speaking out, making him glance around to see Thoros sitting at a table with Loras, chatting over a late breakfast. The young knight seemed a bit intimidated by the priest considering his nervous look, yet their conversation seemed friendly enough.

"Come on, stop acting so meek boy! Have a little pride you faced against Jaime and survived the Mountain." The Red Priest chuckled.

"I know that, yet it feels lowly that I'm renowned for surviving such battles. I'd prefer to remembered for win them instead." The young knight muttered back.

"Winning isn't everything Ser Loras." Geralt added as he'd move to an empty seat, drawing a surprised and friendly looks from both men. Picking out a bit of bread and cooked beef, the Witcher took a few bites before continuing to speak. "From what I heard you at least matched up well against Jaime. Considering what he's capable, I'm impressed you lasted that long against him."

"Heh, I'll accept that praise from you Witcher." Loras chuckled. "Wish I had just a fraction of your experience just match up against Ser Jaime."

"That battle was indeed grand!" Thoros laughed out. "Young vs the old. Natural talent against aged experience. Kingslayer maybe a cocky young man, but I think your duel knocked a little sense into him. Time and trials will tamper him into a flawless warrior for sure."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "So I'm curious, why are you still around Loras? Thought you'd be returning to Highgarden."

"A mix of personal and political reasons mainly. After all, still chances for new alliances to be made at the Red Keep."

"Of course." Geralt did remember that Loras and Renly seemed to be close, no doubt the reason for the Tyrell remaining in the capital. "What about you Thoros? Planning on roaming across the Kingdoms soon?"

"Nah…plan to stay as long as you are."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Why? Because of fate! Yesterday was proof of that with the Lord of Light's blessing!"

"Surely you're jesting Thoros. I'll admit the flaming sword was a neat trick, even more considering it wasn't wildfire." Loras remarked.

"Was no trick! It was real faith being proven right there! It was like what my visions showed…well…vaguely."

Geralt was indeed curious about what had happened, considering that fire was indeed magically summoned if his medallion's vibrating was proof enough. "Maybe…so this vision you had. Can you do it again?"

"It's not something I just do. There has to be a…timing to it all." The priest muttered. "Yet I check the flames every night now, trying to gleam another vision. Yet so far I know that you are the focus of them, showing that you're key to the Lord's plans."

The Witcher didn't remark at the priest's claim, not fully agreeing of a 'god' pulling the strings. Still he couldn't deny there was some power stirring in the man, be it his own will or something beyond. "Well if you get any visions just tell me. I'm at least curious to know."

"Of course! May be hope yet that you'll see the Lord's light just yet!"

Loras sighed, seeming baffled by all of this. "As interesting as this may be, I feel I must excuse myself. I need to check up on someone." The young knight got up from his seat and walk out of the hall, leaving Geralt with Thoros.

"Have to say I should be moving on as well. Need to see if the King and Queen has returned by now."

"Should be soon. They were just about finished packing when we headed off." The red priest answered back. "I know Robert invited you on a hunt. Been on my fair share and can say the man is quite the talented one. Maybe he'll show you a trick or two."

"I'll be observant. Take care for now Thoros." Geralt moved to get out of his seat before heading for the exit that lead towards the main entrance to the keep and throne room, expecting he may run into the royal family there.

"You too Witcher!" Thoros chuckled out before he'd quickly continued finishing breakfast.

…

Arriving at the entrance hall, Geralt slowed his pace when he heard the voice of Joffrey echoing ahead, seeming to be speaking with someone. Hanging back by an archway, he could see the blond haired prince was speaking to Sandor who seemed quite groggy eyed, no doubt from a long night drinking by his disheveled look. It seemed the prince was quite annoyed towards the tall warrior with how he spoke.

"Hound! Can you explain to me why you arrived here so late? For a bodyguard you seem to be slacking of late, leaving the job for the Gold Cloaks." The boy grumbled.

Sandor looked at the boy, his eyes having a dull look to them. "Got caught up in the festivities sire."

"More like mellowing. I heard how you hid away with half a cast of ale to yourself, dull yourself over your defeat at the Melee, especially from your brother." Joffrey sneered a bit. "No doubt angry you lost your chance for revenge? The White Wolf made quick work of the Mountain after all…"

Already Geralt could see Sandor tensing, one armored hand clenching as his hanged over state made his patience quite thin to Joffrey's insults. It seemed like he was about to strike at the boy, so the Witcher stepped forward into view, making Sandor relax his grip as Joffrey's attention focused on Geralt.

"Ah the hero of the Melee, the fierce White Wolf! You made my name day tourney seem like childish with how you bested nearly half the competition, even outmatching my uncle. I hope one day you two will have a rematch, perhaps on my royal coronation."

"May not be staying in Westeros that long sire, still a generous offer."

Joffrey sighed in a hint of frustration. "Quite the shame." Yet before the prince could say anything else, more footsteps could be heard as others entered the hall through the main doors. Everyone glanced over to see Cersei, dressed in a lavish red and gold trimmed dress with her younger son and daughter following close beside her. When she saw the Witcher there was a hint of surprise at first before those eyes narrowed sharply, distain showing for a short moment. Following close behind her was one of the King's Guard and two city watch, no doubt her escorts from the tourney grounds.

Still he'd give a short respectful bow to her. "Good morning your majesty." Glancing to her children at her side, he gave a small smile to them. "And to you as well lord and lady."

The kids giggled and muttered at his friendly greeting, although Cersei seemed to keep herself close to them as if to ward away the Witcher. "You are here earlier than expected Ser Geralt."

"Wanted to return as soon as possible before the streets go crowded. Have earned quite the reputation after yesterday, which does draw unwanted attention." Pausing though, he'd continue to speak. "The tournament aside though, there is a certain matter I wish to question you about involving Jon Arryn's wife, Lady Lysa."

There was a curious yet cautious look in Cersei's eyes at the mention of the other woman. "I take this involves her husband's death?"

"She's become a prime suspect after I questioned Grand Maester Pycelle. Considering what I've learned and the fact she left the Keep after her husband's death, a quite suspicious move considering. He told me you and her chatted often, so perhaps you can shed a little light about her during that time."

Cersei was silent as she'd look to her children who'd approach Joffrey, the prince seeming to be chatting with his younger brother, seeming to be telling a grand story from how he gestured about. The King's Guard and the Gold Cloaks stood by dutiful, watching the children while the Hound stepped aside, leaning against a nearby pillar to rest a bit.

"Ser Trant." The gold armored knight looked at the queen. "Would you escort Tommen and Myrcella to tutor's room? I have a small matter to discus with Ser Geralt."

"As you wish your grace." The gruff knight answered back with a short bow, organizing the children together who'd wave goodbye to their mother as they'd be led away.

The queen's gaze shifted to her eldest son, who'd see the silent command in her sharp eyes. Glancing away, he'd give a nod to both her and the Witcher before muttering something to the Hound. Both hurried off as well, heading down the corridor leading to the dining hall, no doubt to get an early lunch.

With a gesture, Cersei lead the way down a side hall that took a more scenic route through the Red Keep, mainly along an open walkway with a fine view of the vast gardens and the sea. Of course the two guards followed them, hanging back to not overhear, yet to watch the queen closely.

"Lysa and I didn't talk as often as you've queen muttered to the Witcher as they strolled along. "Yet always it was about family…both of ours. Lysa long has had a troubling history of baring stillborns which is why she was so protective of her son Robert, being her only living son. He is sickly boy, yet deeply cared for by both is parents. Jon however planned to have him sent off to be a lord's ward, begin a more proactive training and gain firsthand experience, hoping it would improve the boy's health."

"Not uncommon. It is meant to be a show of trust and alliance to do so." Geralt remarked.

"Indeed. Jon had chosen my father to care for his son, a fitting choice since both men held the highest respect for each other. However Lysa was shocked at the news, being quick to approach me and begging that I convince my father to refuse, even though there be little I could do to dissuade him."

"She was that hysteric?"

"The woman was paranoid really. I'm surprised she shared such personal thoughts with me…perhaps it was out of desperation or some faint affinity for us being mothers."

"Do you think she'd go as far as to poison her own husband?" He'd question before the woman stopped, turning to face out at the beautiful sea.

For a while Cersei didn't answer as she'd leaned against the carved stone railing, making Geralt wonder if she was trying to ignore him. "Tell me…how far would you go to protect your child? I know you have an adopted daughter, the one who you are looking for." Glancing at him, a small smirk hinted her lips as he saw the serious look hinting his yellow eyes. "How far would you go to protect her, even if it meant hurting others?"

"If needed. I've fought and killed those who'd threaten Ciri or myself, yet never went as far to harm innocents."

"Yet in the end someone will get caught up or the lines between foes and innocent become blur. As a man who's seen much of the world you must understand that at least." She'd pause, letting those words sink in while Geralt kept that calm yet intimidating stare at her. "I do believe Lysa could have poisoned her husband just to keep her son at her side, the only place she considers safe."

"May have to ask your husband to call her to the court for questioning." He'd shift back, seeming to be done with his questioning. "Thank you for your time your grace."

"Of course Geralt, anything to help you find the truth." She answered back formally.

As he moved away to head back down the hall, he paused as a thought came to mind. He still had some suspicions about the queen, mainly relating to her children after what he had overheard between her and Pycelle. It was risky to do this considering what she had said to her father, yet perhaps a little pressure would give some clues.

"One other thing…you're children really have quite the resemblance." He suddenly remarked, his tone casual towards her.

While her back was toward him, he'd notice her form tense lightly, the hand on the stone railing gripping it tightly for a short moment. "In what way you mean?" She'd muttered back, her voice having a cold demanding tone to it.

"They all seem to take after you. Gold hair and such. Joffrey though has his father's fierce spirit, something that he should discipline more considering his aggressive behavor."

Cersei paused for a long moment, yet Geralt could see how her nails lightly scrapped along the stone in a growing sign of anger. "He is my son and I'll continue to rise him as I see fit." She calmly stated.

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply your grace." The Witcher gave a small bow. "Anyway I've taken enough of your time…farewell." He'd continue on his way, yet looking back he could see the woman shaking a bit where she stood in a mix of fear and anger. There was no doubt now, Cersei was guarding something about her children just like Jon Arryn had suspected. It all came down to Gendry and whatever hunch Ned had.

"Still a lot of daylight ahead…better wait till nightfall." He'd head for his room, feeling a few hours of extra sleep would be a good way to pass the time before meeting with the Hand of the King.

 **...**

Geralt crept through the Red Keep as night had settled in, leaving the corridors empty except for the odd guard patrolling around. While he had no worry of getting into trouble with the watch, her preferred to be discreet with meeting Eddard. Soon he'd reach the doors that lead to the Hand's Tower, the private quarters and study for Lord Stark. A pair of northern guards, men brought along from Winterfell watched the doors, both giving respectful nods to the Witcher as he'd pass by.

The first floor seemed to be a mix of lodge and small dining area for private gatherings. More northerns were sitting or standing about, at least over half a dozen from Geralt's count. By the spiral stairway leading up, Geralt recognized Jory, the Stark's captain of the guard. He hadn't seen much of the man since moving into the Red Keep, yet he knew the captain was a dutiful and trustful individual.

"Evening Geralt. Lord Eddard is expecting you on the top floor." He'd gesture to the stairs taking the lead heading upward.

"A lot of security. What's going on?"

"A precaution. Lord Stark will explain."

They'd pass the second floor which seemed to be quest area, having a small sitting place which had a hallway leading out to smaller rooms. One guard was sitting back in one chair, seeming to be keeping an eye on the separate room doors. "Eddard's daughters have been moved in here for now. Sansa was frustrated at first but she had settled down for now. Still, we're being mindful of their safety." Jory remarked.

The third floor was much like the last, yet it only had one separate room. Geralt guessed this was Ned's bedchambers. Soon they'd reach the top floor, the study which like the last two had an antechamber that lead into the secured office. Jory knocked at the door in a certain pattern before someone within spoke out. The captain of the guard opened the door for the Witcher, revealing Stark's office. It was much like the study in Winterfell, although a bit bigger and having a balcony that gave a fine view of the ocean and King's Landing. Behind the massive oaken desk sat Eddard, who was busy writing up a letter, one of many that was piling up. Finishing the letter, Ned sighed as he'd set his quill down before glancing up at Jory and Geralt, a tired and serious look in his eyes.

"Thank you Jory. You can go now." Eddard muttered.

The captain nodded as he'd turn to leave, closing the heavy door behind him, leaving Geralt and Ned alone now.

Neither Geralt nor Ned said anything for the moment as the northern lord worked on getting the last letter folded and closed with a seal. The Witcher paced around the office, eyeing a few books as he waited.

"So what are you planning Ned? Added guards show you're prepared for trouble…and I can see a few of those letters have a few powerful names on them." Geralt calmly stated.

Ned set the letter on top of the pile before he'd shift up to stand, stepping around the desk. "A backup plan if trouble arises. If what I've deduced is true then we'll need all the support we can get." He'd gesture Geralt to come closer, one hand resting on a thick tome with quite the long title.

"The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Davos mentioned you found a book that Jon had been researching into."

"Yes. This was buried under a lot of older tomes and records. I think with what strength he had, he deliberately hid it away as some kind of clue." He'd flip open the book where a bookmark was set, the chapter being on the Baratheon family. All across the page it detailed marriages and short descriptions on each member of the family. Throughout it there were small markings and circles made, mainly over the details on male descendants of the Baratheon line. "Take a look."

Geralt studied the book and the markings, yellow eyes scanning page after page, noticing quickly a common quality among the men of the family. "All have black hair. It makes sense…dominate heredity trait" Looking closely he'd even see how past unions with Lannsters continued with the black haired appearance.

"Exactly. It is the reason why Jon looked into Robert's bastards within King's Landing, to get visual proof of this." Ned remarked. "It means that Joffrey isn't Robert's true son, but a bastard child that Cersei has bared with someone else."

The Witcher paused as he'd shut the book close. "That mean Lord Stannis be next in line unless Gendry is appointed by the King's command." He muttered. "So now it comes down to who's the father of Cersei's three children?"

"From the look in your eyes I can tell you have some ideas."

"Yes…and if it's true it makes matters a lot worse." The Witcher paced around the desk, gaze set on those sealed letters. "It's Jaime. It's the only logical explanation."

A hint of surprise and shock showed on Ned's face. "That is…a serious claim."

"Yet the most likely. If anything it's been quite obvious if you look close enough." His piercing yellow eyes glanced right at Eddard. "Share more than just simple sibling bond. Just the subtle hints during the tourney are proof of that. Besides the children are nearly a splitting image of him and her. Give Joffrey a few more years and I'll bet he'll look a lot like Jaime when he was that young."

Ned took a deep breath, a troubled look showing across his face. "Bad enough to be born as bastards…yet products of incest." He'd pause as he'd rub one hand across his face and down his breaded chin. "If this is true…"

"If Robert learns of this who knows what he'll do. At best he'll exile and have the Lannister's disgraced. Worse case…kill them all. Start a whole new war with all of the Westernlands."

Ned nodded slowly, a grim look in his eyes. "I know. This is a deception that he will not stand for."

"So how do we handle this? One factor we have to think over is with Lord Tywin himself."

"Why is that?"

"I doubt he knows about Joffrey's or the other children's true parentage. The man values his family's reputation about all else and the act of incest would be damning towards it."

"True, yet he values family just as much. He'll no doubt try to discredit the claims and still defend his children from the King's justice."

Eddard gave a small nervous chuckle. "Seems we're in quite the corner then. A disturbing conspiracy with no simple solution."

Geralt was silent for a long moment, looking at Eddard with a calm gaze. "Ned…you know that if Cersei and Jaime are together, it's logical that he was with her at the tower in Winterfell."

Lord Stark nodded, glace looking down at the table as one hand rapped against the strong wood firmly. The Witcher could sense the building anger from the man as he struggled to keep himself composed. Even Geralt felt a stirring fury too, wondering how Jaime could act so normally in front of them, even during the moment discussing the boy.

"I know…I'd like nothing more than to make them pay for what happened to my son." He'd take a shaky sigh before looking up. "Yet it will be through proper means…through the law and courts. We have to approach this carefully, else we will have a repeat of the Rebellion like decades ago."

"So any ideas then?"

Ned thought for a moment. "We could approach Cersei. As much as I hate the idea we can blackmail her with the information, give her a chance to flee King's Landing with her family. At the least that will give us time to calm Robert down with the news of her incestuous infidelity without having any senseless bloodshed."

"Ned, that woman's ego and desire for power won't have her back down. If you threaten her like that she will lash out and we both know she has powerful allies to back her up."

"Which is why we will be ready in force to. I have been gathering up my men and trustworthy knights, people who are loyal to the Baratheons and the King. In turn you have allies to look to, men like Thoros and Loras Tyrell who both respect you."

"Thoros be a good choice, he's a friend to the king after all. Yet Loras I don't think we should involve. He may be famous for his prowess yet he seems to have little political standing with him family and here." He'd shake his head though. "Coup like that is too risky. We can easily be seen as the aggressors and be blamed for outright rebellion and treason."

"A fair point..." Ned thought for a moment, an idea coming to mind. "Robert hunt, I know he's invited you to it. You'd be away from the capital and any prying spies. Being that far out will give him time to calm down over this shocking news and you to reason with him."

"Still a gamble."

"Yet his authority would be the swiftest and just way to settle this matter."

For a while Geralt was quiet, thinking over everything. He hated how limited and risky this was becoming. No doubt Ned understood that which was why he was pushing for more official actions."

"Fine I'll do it." He muttered back. "Yet be ready for anything when we do come back."

"I pray that we will be prepared for this. You still have a few days until the hunt, give us time to think over how to handle this. For now we just follow our usual duties…"

The Witcher nodded in agreement. "Then we play our parts." He'd turnabout for the door, feeling there was nothing left to say. For once he felt goodbye wasn't fitting for this moment and it seemed Ned agreed from the look on his face.

"Aye…that we do."

Passing through the heavy door out of the office, it slam shut as events were now set, reaching a point of no return.

…

The next few days Geralt focused on his usual routine throughout the Red Keep. He did spend more time training Arya along with Syrio, honing dueling skills at double the pace. If anything the girl seemed more focused after the tournament, no doubt wanting to accomplish the same feats the Witcher had done. Again she had the same spirit Ciri had, which in turned improved his own mood with the difficult times coming ahead.

Soon the day of the hunt arrived and Geralt made sure to prepare himself. He knew they'd be heading off to the Kingswood, a vast forest to the south which was used as the royal hunting grounds. It was within a day's ride, yet from what the page had told him Robert wished to stay within the woods for at least a night and day.

Donning his Witcher armor and swords along his hand crossbow and quiver. He'd pack away a selection of bombs and potions, basic ones for any emergencies. It was good to be more equip beyond just his swords yet he hoped he wouldn't have to use his more exotic tools. Fully packed for the trip, he'd make his way for the courtyard where the gathering party would be. Making his way for the main hall, Geralt slowed as he'd see King Robert, Renly and the whole King's Guard leaving out the throne room, Barristan chatting beside his Lord while Jaime followed close behind.

Robert and Renly were both dressed for travel, having traded their more regal clothes for fine sturdy leathers. It was perhaps the first time Geralt had seen the two dressed so normally considering their high positions in the court.

The Lannister knight seemed to have recovered from his injuries as he stood tall in his golden armor. The right side of his face had healed well, yet a clean scar remained from across his brow and down to his chin. It no doubt take a month to see how badly it scar although Geralt could tell it leave a clear mark in the end.

Approaching the group, everyone's attention shifted to the Witcher, Robert giving a big grin seeing how well armed the man was. "Hah! So is this how you usually look when you go on a hunt?"

"Usually my prey are fiercer then stags and boars." Geralt simply answered back.

"Going to have to tell me more of these 'monsters' you hunt in your country, they must be quite the challenge to require such weapons." Looking to Renly and Barristan, he'd nod for the doors. "Anyway day light is burning. Sun may be low now yet I want to be in the Kingswood and camp set before midday!"

The group head out to leave, though rest of the King's Guard going their separate ways since their Commander was going to be watching Robert on this occasion. However Geralt quickly noticed Jaime remained behind, making the Witcher stop following after Robert and the others.

Looking at the young knight, Geralt remembered that this was the man who had crippled Bran, who put all these events into motion. Yet despite it all he felt a strange confliction, the lingering respect that he couldn't deny after their battle days ago. It was frustrating really, but he kept composed as he showed no real emotion on his face as he approached Jaime.

"Doing alright?"

Jaime smirked at the remark, nodding his head as one hand touched his scarred cheek. "Humbled really. I can say this was the first duel where I truly met my match despite all my plans and efforts."

"He were well prepared, something most don't do when facing a difficult opponent." Geralt answered back. "You pushed he further than most, an accomplishment that you should be proud of."

"Sounds like worthy praise when you put it that way. Guess I can say I was the man who nearly bested the White Wolf."

Geralt couldn't help but chuckle at the man's jesting tone. "At least you'll never forget with that scar. Trust me, I never do with the ones I've earned."

Jaime nodded, an amused smile on his face, yet for a moment the Witcher could see an odd hint in the man's eyes. It seemed to be…guilt, just the small way his gaze shifted away from the Witcher. "One day I hope we will battle again. You've given me a lot to think about…" He'd offer one up hand to shake, making Geralt gaze downward.

For a moment the Witcher hesitated from his conflicting emotions. Jaime could tell something was wrong as he noted Geralt stance becoming tense, a questioning look showing on the knight's face. However a booming voice from the grand doorway called out, snapping both men to attention.

"Enough chatting Geralt! Hurry up or I'll have you dragged all the way to the woods!" Robert yelled out.

With the tension broken, Geralt relaxed as he'd turn away from Jaime to face the doorway to the courtyard. "I best go, rather not frustrate the King so early in the day."

There was still a troubled look on the knight's face, yet he'd nod in agreement. "True…keep a close eye on him Witcher." Jaime gave a short respectful nod before stepping away, yet he'd stop to speak a bit more. "When you return there is something I want to tell you. Something I feel you should know…"

Already the Witcher had an idea what Jaime meant, yet didn't say anything as he let the Lannister march off down one hallway. Taking a low breath to calm himself, Geralt headed out to the courtyard were everyone else was waiting. There was a small group of squires, Lancel being among them, were set on wagon packed with camping and hunting supplies, along with a couple guards for added protection. Nearby, Roach was being handled by a squire who handed the reins to the Witcher so he could mount up. Robert glanced over the gathering party before gesturing towards the gates.

"Forward! To the King's Gate to the south. Guards, make sure the morning crowd doesn't slow us down. Want to give the people a good show yet to not have them hinder us."

The ride through the city went by smoothly as the royal hunting party with only a small crowd paying much attention to them. Robert kept the group going, waving to a few people who called out to him while the guards kept anyone from getting in the way. At times though someone spoke out from Renly and Geralt, more often his nick name the White Wolf. Renly would give a charming smile to those who called for his attention, although the Witcher wasn't as active as he'd give a small nod or glance to the onlookers.

Soon they'd reach the King's Gate which was the simplest looking of the city entrances when compared to the others, making him guess it was one of the original gateways into the city. The party continued southward, crossing a wide stone bridge of the King's Road that stretched over the wide Blackwater Rush. Robert would be chatting with his younger brother while a while, giving a deep chuckle as Renly gave an annoyed look before slowing his horse to stop riding alongside the King.

"Sibling differences I take?" Geralt questioned as he neared Renly.

"More of his boasting nature. It's tiring to keep hearing him praise about his accomplishments during the Rebellion and all his hunts. If anything it's a bit sad…"

"Him clinging to the glory days. I've seen it before. Still he seems to have keep peace well enough despite the debt that has built up behind the scenes."

Renly nodded. "He and I may have different views on many matters when it comes to running the country. I give advice and in turn hope he uses it. I only wish Joffrey won't be next in line thought…if anything the traditional line of succession is outdated."

"That is a bold thought to share." Geralt remarked, curious at what the young noble was saying.

"You're not an ordinary individual Geralt, you are far more open minded then most. Surely you'd agree that a leader should be chosen by merit and vote of the people. We've soon too often that a those handed the role of ruler by birthright often leads to war or bad leadership. Aerys is such an example, a decent king in the early years before madness ruined him."

"All fair points and one I agree. However I doubt such a change will happen over time."

"Perhaps, yet your approval give me confidence at the least." Renly chuckled. "Many too many respect you for martial prowess, yet Lord Stark and I see the greater value in your common sense and wisdom."

"Flattering compliments sire."

"You're welcome."

By now the Kingswood was in sight, a vast stretch of dense woodlands that was unlike anything Geralt had seen back home. While Velen had plenty of forest, it was often split apart by roads, swamps and the destruction of war. If monsters existed in this world he was certain these woods would be prime grounds of such creatures to live and breed in, secluded even considering how unpopulated the region was around the wide forest. It be an hour of riding until the party reached the woods and half an hour until they had traveled deep enough.

"Far enough! Men, set the camp off the side of the road while the rest of us begin our hunt. Get the skinning table set up first before everything else." Robert ordered as he'd come to a stop, getting off his horse and handing it off to a page.

Everyone else did the same, dismounting and letting the servants get the horses safely tied up nearby a grassy area. Geralt stretched a bit as he'd watch the camp quickly get set up as the cart was unloaded, yet his attention focused on the rest of the royal party.

Already Robert and Renly was handed boar spears before the King spoke out. "Let's see what we can catch today. Witcher, I'd like you at my side, want to see your famous tracking skills up close."

Geralt guessed Ned must have shared the story of how he deduced the events of the dead direwolf and stag. "As you wish your grace." Moving up Lancel offer up a board spear to him, yet he'd shake his head as he refused the weapon.

The group began their march away from the camp, taking a side trail leading deeper into the woods. Geralt was close beside Robert while Renly followed just behind, while Barristan and Lancel was at the back, carrying extra supplies for everyone.

"So Geralt, tell me about the beasts you hunt, these monsters you slay."

"Can say most aren't like your usual beasts sire. Can say one of the fiercest creatures has always been a chort or their larger cousins the fiends."

"What are they like?"

Geralt paused to think for a moment before answering. "Imagine a beast the size of a carriage with the thick muscular body that could crush a bear. Claws on the front end and solid hooves on the back. Head is like a goat or warped stag often with the accustomed horns for the type. Oddest feature is a third eye that many claim can hypnotize others, although it's just superstition."

Robert gaze quite the puzzled look before grinning and chuckling. "Heh, if such a beasts exist back home I can see why they trained men like you. Sounds a lot like the things rumor to be Essos really." The man sighed as he'd shake his head a bit. "Wish I could have gone off to see such things...be a thrill to hunt a creature like that."

"I'd be hesitant on that sire. Seen even a juvenile chort kill half of an experienced hunting party before they took it down."

"Well lucky I'm no ordinary hunter." Robert jested back. "You do live the life Geralt, traveling across the world, hunting and fighting along the way. If war had never happened I'd probably have done the same."

Lancel suddenly moved up to the two with a heavy waterskin, speaking up to just interrupt. "Wine your grace?"

"Aye. Always good to have a drink early in the hunt." The man chuckled as he'd take a deep drink from it before offering some to Geralt.

The Witcher didn't refuse, if anything he needed something to help relax during the trek. Taking a sip, he'd recognize the taste of the drink being the same strong wine Robert had shared back at his tent during the tournament. Handing the skin back, Lancel retreat back to the back of the line before Robert spoke up.

"Slow down…think I see something."

Indeed there was marking in the dirt, large and rough tracks fitting of a large boar. Already Geralt crouched down as he'd focus his sharp eyes to the ground, noting how the trail started off from the dense underbrush before scrapping a tree as a territorial mark before heading down the trail.

"Big one. At least a grand old boar, maybe eight or ten years in age." Geralt muttered.

"Quite the prime age." Renly remarked as he'd step closer. "Going to have to be mindful with tracking it."

"Heh, boars this age have no fear. If we get close enough the boar will come to us instead of run." Robert chuckled eagerly, hefting up his spear. "Let's keep going. Can't have gone too far."

The group resumed the match with Geralt taking more of a lead, yellow cat like eyes keeping track of the boar's trail. Robert was quiet most of the walk, watching the Witcher closely.

"Anyway I miss the simpler times Geralt. Enemies were right in front of you, vicious and bloody inviting you to face them. Nothing like today…"

"Sounds exhilarating." Renly remarked back offhandedly.

"Exhilarating yes! Not like those balls and masquerades you like to throw!" Robert gave a long and deep chuckle of amusement, although his brother's sour expression was quite the opposite. Lancel again moved forward, offering the wineskin again to Robert who took a short drink with a pleased sigh. "So Geralt, enjoyed any Norther or Riverlander women yet?"

"Haven't had the time sire." The Witcher muttered back dismissively.

"Heh, back in my day we had a little right of manhood were you had to fuck one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it making the eight!"

"Those must have been some lucky girls…" Renly remarked back, hinting mockery in his tone.

Robert seemed to ignore his brother's words though. "You ever make the eight Barristan?"

Geralt couldn't help but glance back as the Lord Commander seemed stoic as ever with the calm expression on his face. "I don't believe so your grace." He'd answer back formally.

Again the king laughed out loudly at the commander's remark. "Ah those were the days."

Suddenly Renly had a look of frustration cross his face as he'd suddenly speak up. "Which days exactly?  
He'd firmly plant the end of his spear into the ground, making everyone behind him come to a sudden stop. Robert turned to look at his younger brother, a stern look showing in his eyes. "The one were one half of Westeros fought the other and millions died? Or before that when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it? Or way before that when dragons burned whole cities to the ground!?"

Everyone seemed taken aback at Renly's words, even Geralt as the young noble and Robert had a tense stare down. The King gripped his boar spear tightly before speaking back. "Easy boy…you maybe my brother but you're speaking to your king."

Renly seemed ready to snap back yet Geralt could tell this was only going to get worse. "Sires. Hate to break up the family feud, but something is close." The Witcher spoke up, silencing the younger noble.

There was a long pause, Robert seeming to forget the argument as his attention returned to the hunt. Lancel seemed oddly nervous as he glanced about before moving towards Robert. "Ah…more wine before-"

"The King has had enough to drink." Geralt muttered back. "Save it for after the kill."

The Witcher expected the King to argue back yet the man remained silent. Perhaps the small lesson on the day of the Melee had left an impression with the man. "Big…something big is lurking." The man muttered.

Indeed there was a heavy rustling nearby and a deep squealing grunts that grew louder each time. Geralt moved one hand behind his back, gripping his crossbow while Renly and Robert took positions facing different directions. Barristan had a tense look in his eyes as he gripped his sword, that same alertness before the Melee showing once more.

Suddenly there was a fierce squeal as a massive boar, the biggest even Geralt had seen charged out from the thick brush. Nearly the size of the mountain in bulk and length, along with having massive gnarled tusks that could gore could rip leather with ease. Lancel yelped out in shock as he leaped aside, while Robert and Renly turned about, spear aimed low in a bracing stance.

"Come on you old pig!" Robert growled out while Barristan and Geralt dodged aside, knowing the boar spear be far more effective than their swords. The boar blindly rushed at those two spears, Renly's being knocked aside by the thrashing head, nicking across the boar's muscular neck while staggering the young man away. The king however had his spear drive into the beast's chest, driving the spear deep into thick muscle and flesh.

Despite the deep wound the boar was unyielding as it struggle and push forward, making Robert slide back as he put all his heavy weight back. The rough tarien though made it hard for the large man to keep his footing as a thick overgrown root had him tumble back, cursing out as he landed roughly onto his back. With the spear still stuck in, the boar squealed as it rushed at Robert, who quickly drew out a large hunting knife to defend himself.

At this point Geralt took action as he drew and fired his crossbow in one fluid move, the bolt flying right into the beast's left eye. The overgrown animal squealed in pain as it was blinded, disrupting its charge as it turned away from Robert. Renly had recovered as he'd give a yell as he stabbed the boar into the side, slowing the animal even more as he'd twisted the spear about. The boar turned and twisted, trying to get at Renly who was barely keeping his own footing.

Robert took this chance to pull himself up and lunge at the boar, giving a fierce battle cry as he grabbed at one of gnarled tusks, showing a shocking burst of strength as he'd yank the beast's head about. With a yell he'd drive his knife into the boar's skull, yet even then the thing mindlessly thrashed and struggled as it tried to take down Robert. Geralt fired another shot at the gashed wound Renly had left earlier across the neck, piercing through the thick fur and hide. The boar recoiling in pain, giving Robert the chance to stab again and twist the knife about. The boar give a mournful groan before it at last slumped down dead at last. Robert shuffled back panting, leaving his knife embedded in the boar's head while everyone gathered up around the massive beast.

For a long moment no one said anything as they glanced between each other and the slain beast, until Robert gave a deep laugh and victorious cry. "Hah! I still got it. Haven't stared death in the eye for so long…" Taking a deep breath, he'd rub his sweaty face and gruff beard as he'd glance at Renly. "Renly…you damn soft at times but you saved my ass there. Consider us even over that argument, just don't do that again." His gaze then shifted to Geralt. "Thank as well. Damn good shot going for the eye and neck. Seems you are full of tricks Witcher."

Renly shook his head, smirking a bit as he seemed a bit amused with his brother's remark. Whatever tension that had built up from their earlier argument was gone for the moment. "Fine…even then." He'd muttered, taking a deep sigh as he'd catch his breath.

"Crazy of you to grapple a boar like that, much less with one hand." Geralt remarked. "Guess you got a fire left in you still sire."

"Heh, under a layer of fat and sagging muscle." The Robert chuckled as he'd step up to yank his knife out of the boar's skull with a bit of effort. "Either I need to thin down or hang up the spear. Been any slower that thing would have gored my guts out."

"It was a close call your grace." Barristan remarked. "I feel I should have intervened at the least."

"Bah don't worry yourself Barristan. Your job is to fight off assassins, not old wild boars." By now Lancel would peek out from his hiding spot, quickly being noticed by Robert. "And you boy. Best hope you got strong arms and a sturdy back because you'll be helping drag this thing all the way back to camp."

Geralt couldn't help but smirk in amusement as the squire give such a troubled look news, although he'd nod his head as he'd rejoin the group. "As you wish sir…" He'd offer up the wineskin which the King snatched up before taking a deep gulp from, giving a pleased sigh as he'd savoir the drink and his victorious kill.

…

The walk back to camp took twice as long as the group struggled to drag the giant boar back. Even with Geralt helping out, the sheer bulk of the animal was just too difficult to heft about. Renly was sent ahead to get more men, who'd arrive when the group was half way there. Soon everyone was back in the camp and the boar set on a massive table in a large tent to be skinned and chopped up.

Geralt took the time to get some water after the long trek before deciding to check up on Robert, thinking this may be the best chance to talk privately with the man. Entering the main tent, the Witcher found Robert already cutting his knife deeply into the boar as he'd carefully work on gutting the creature while Lancel stood by with a wooden bucket to collect the gory entrails.

"Mind the bladder boy. That thing's burst and you'll stick of boar piss for a week." Robert warned has he'd hand over sack to the squire, who seemed pale with gross details. The King's attention shifted to Geralt when he stepped in, giving a big welcoming smile to the Witcher. "Come to help Witcher? If anything Lancel here looks like he'll need a bucket for his own guts."

"A-Amusing you grace." The squire muttered, seeming a bit green with nausea.

Robert sighed and shook his head. "If a gutted pig has you this sick, you'll never have the balls to slice a man in a real battle. Get those guts thrown out and gather up some water, going to need plenty to cleaning up here."

"But the nearest stream is…"

"Far off…which means you best get moving then!"

Lancel quickly nodded before he'd hurry off, nearly fumbling with the gut filled bucket as he left the tent. Geralt stepped up beside the skinning table as Robert continued his knife work, grunting and cursing as the hide was held tightly together by the dense muscle.

"Think you're being a bit too tough on the squire?" Geralt questioned.

"Have to be. Show him being a…ugh…knight isn't as simple as it looks. Need's to understand there is hard work and commitment to matter how lowly the task is." Robert muttered back between cuts.

"Fair point." For a while the Witcher just silently the King cut away at the boar hide before speaking. "Hides tougher than it looks."

"Heh, should have scrounged up a valyrian steel knife if I knew…guh!" The knife got stuck in the thick muscle which forced him to roughly yank it out.

"Have a dagger, though it's not really meant for this kind of work." Geralt reached to his hip, holding up the sheathed curved weapon.

When Robert glanced at it, he did a double take, a hint of recognition showing in his eyes. "Where did you get that?" He muttered.

"So you have this this weapon before?"

"Aye. I won it a month before our trip to Winterfell during Joffrey's naming day tourney. Lord Baelish betted it."

"Huh…guess he wasn't lying on that detail." The Witcher remarked lowly.

Robert's expression became sterner now. "Again where did you get that dagger?" He demanded.

"Guess even Robert didn't tell you yet. This dagger was in the hands of some vagrant hired to murder Bran back in Winterfell. Man nearly killed the boy and Lady Stark with it."

Confusion now hinted the King's eyes. "What? How can that be? Gave that thing to Joffrey day after his naming day…boy treasured that dagger over everything else. "

"So you admit Joffrey was the last owner of the dagger?"

"Aye. Now care to explain how some lowly assassin got hold of it?"

"If anything you just told me who gave it to him."

Robert growled lowly, making Barristan tense slightly in the tent corner. "Watch yourself Geralt. You saved my life back there yet that doesn't give you the right to say such things about my family!"

"I'm stating what the clues tell me sire."

"What you're imply is that my son tried to kill my best friend's own child."

"Because it's damn obvious. I know the Starks have plenty of enemies but do you really think any are that clumsy?" Geralt countered back. "Hiring a desperate criminal and arm him with a traceable dagger like this? Only a child would be foolish enough to do something like this."

The explanation had Robert pause, glancing between Geralt and the dagger. "Why then? Joffrey didn't even talk with the boy…has no reason to want him dead."

"True. Yet the he doesn't think reasonable like most kids his age." The Witcher countered back. "Think back to the days after Bran's fall. I remember a few people say you claimed the boy was better off dead considering his crippling."

Again the King was silent, seeming to be thinking back to all those months. "I…may have said such things. Drink made me loose tongued with my thoughts."

"Thoughts that Joffrey overheard. You may not show much attention to the boy, yet he follows you everything you say by the letter. Overall he didn't do it out of a cruel intent, only out of a lack of common sense."

"I don't want to believe it…" Robert muttered in a low voice.

At this point Geralt could tell there was conflict in the man's mind, as if he had some knowledge that something was wrong with deeply wrong with Joffrey. This seemed like the right moment to give the full truth.

"I know this is a lot to take in, but there other pressing news I have to tell you."

Robert slam his fist against the table in showing frustration. "Damn it Geralt, I came out here to escape the stresses of court or be drown in more intrigue!"

"Trust me, Lord Stark and I hate it just as much, but this is a matter that wasn't safe to speak at the Red Keep. It involved looking into Jon Arryn's death and his activities beforehand. Mainly…" However Geralt paused, head tilting as he swore he heard something odd outside, a pained grunt that seemed out of place.

"Mainly what Witcher? Come on out with it!" Robert cursed, seeming not to realize something was wrong.

Barristan seemed to notice though as he'd pace to the tent flap to glance outside as the servants seemed to speaking out, remarking that someone had been shot with an arrow. At that point the old knight looked back at Geralt and his King, a dead serious look in his eyes. "Sire take cover now!"

Robert was confused yet Geralt didn't hesitate as his sharp ears heard the whishing sound coming from above. Grabbing hold of King, dragging him down low just as arrows pierce through the tent top and sunk into the ground where they had just stood. Shocked and pained cries followed outside as the servants and guards were picked off by unseen archers. Barristan reached behind him as he drew out a light heater shield, small to conceal onto his back and under his white cape without hindering his movement. He'd raise it over head to ward off more falling arrows before rolling forward under the table, armor hardly hindering him.

"Bloody hells is going on!?" Robert cursed as more arrows striked the table, the half-skinned boar and heavy wood shielding the three.

A few moment later the small rain of arrows stopped, as outside there low wailing cries of whoever had survived the barrage yet was wounded. For a long while the three men were silent, yet Geralt would slowly crawl out from cover, moving towards the tent flap to peak out. Outside the guards and servants were strewn around the campgrounds, dead or dying from what he could tell. Yet scanning the area, he couldn't see Renly, making him worry something had happened to him.

"Hello!" A male voice, middle-aged by the sound of it, yelled out from the woods. "Robert? Glorious King Robert? Are you dead yet?"

Geralt glanced back at the table, seeing the King have a fierce look of anger across his face. However Barristan was muttering something to him, no doubt trying to calm him down.

"Either your dead or hiding…either way it doesn't matter. I do know that Lord Commander Barristan and Ser Geralt though must surely be alive. I doubt two legends of the court would simply die in such a simple ambush." The voice called out.

Neither man answered back, knowing better then to reveal their position to their unseen attackers.

After a long pause, the man continued to speak. "This is dull. If Robert is alive then hear this…Lord Viserys and Lady Daenerys sends their regards. The Targaryens never forget and always repay in fire and blood."

A look of shock then pure rage crossed Robert's face, the man giving a low growl of fury as he heard those words. Indeed Geralt was just as surprised, yet he didn't let that distract him as he could hear heavy footsteps approaching, at least a dozen from what he could guess. Already the Witcher tensed as he'd brace one hand to the ground while the other reached for his steel sword, ready to lunge up and attack when an enemy was in sight. Already he was having doubts on who these men really were and their motives for attacking. Whoever they were they were numerous and well trained along with lacking any restraint on whoever got hurt or killed.

Barristan was prepared as well as he'd shift out from cover, drawing his own sword and holding up his shield. Already Geralt knew that the Lord Commander had no plans on holding back, since those eyes had a look of pure focus in them. "Your grace leave this to us." The older knight calmly stated

"No…" Robert muttered as he'd stagger out of cover. "Not going to hide. For once I have an enemy out in the open…inviting me to face them like so many years before." He'd glance about, cursing since there were no spare swords on hand, except the hunting and skinning tools on the table. Grabbing a hatchet, Robert glance between the Witcher and the Lord Commander. "Don't care if these are pretenders or some thick headed loyalists…no one attacks the King and gets away with it!"

"I get that you want to fight them, but we are outnumbered and surrounded. You're safety comes before everything else." The footsteps neared, the sound of draw blades being drawn being heard outside. A few pained cries followed as the men were finishing off the injured as they made their way towards the tent. "Barristan, you need to get the King into the woods. In the camp we're too exposed to archers. I'll draw their attention while you get Robert to cover."

"I don't plan on running off Witcher." Robert growled before a sudden shock of realization hit him. "Oh gods…Renly…he was out there."

Even Geralt had nearly forgotten about the younger Baratheon, making him curse lowly. "I'll try to find him. Maybe he got to cover or was able to escape."

"Let us hope." Barristan muttered. "Time is up…they approach."

…

At that moment everyone moved, Geralt lunging out as the first ambusher neared the tent flap. The man was gruff and plain looking, dressed in leather and chainmail fitting for infantry or a sellsword. A look of complete surprise crossed his face as the Witcher moved so inhumanly fast along with the fact Geralt's steel blade had just cut right through his unprotected neck.

"By the Seven!" One of the other men yelled out in shock as their companion was instant beheaded, leaving an opening for Geralt to rush in. The two other raiders could barely get their swords up to block the powerful blows the Witcher delt, making them stagger about from the sheer force. Geralt took advantage of their weak guard as he'd slice across one man's chest, rending his simple armor like it was paper. The other tried to lash out with an armored back hand, yet the Witcher simply side stepped and counter attacked, leading to howling cries and an arm flying through the air.

Geralt's attention shifted to Barristan and Robert as they'd rush in the opposite direction, making a break for the dense woods. The Lord Commander cut through any raider with ease, parrying blows with his shield before following up with a lethal stab or slash, even taking a head off one attacker with ease. Age seemingly hadn't slowed or weakened him in the slightest from what the Witcher could tell.

Robert bellowed out threats and curses, following close behind Barristan and watching his flank, even though the knight needed no help. Still the King yelled as he'd swing his hatchet about at one raider who rushed in, catching the man by surprise as he'd split the man's head with a deep cleave. "Hah! Gods I've missed this!" Robert laughed out, picking up the dead man's mace before continuing to follow beside Barristan, heading to the north side of camp.

"Don't just stand there! Shoot them!" It was the same voice who had delivered the speech from before, no doubt the ambush party leader. Geralt could just see some men in the west tree line, shortbows at the ready to shot at Robert and Barristan.

With the archers in view, Geralt armed his bomb and threw it out at the camp edge, aimed to hit as many of the men as possible. "Barristan! From behind!" He warned out.

Soon there was a loud bang followed by a blindly flash then the pained cries of the raiders. "GUH! My eyes…ears…" One howled as everyone clutched at their faces, dazed from the explosion. Even while helpless Geralt showed no mercy as he'd lunge in, blade spinning and turning as he'd dice a bloody path through the raiders. Already he had counted at least eleven men so far between those he and Barristan had faced, although he wasn't sure if there was more where the knight was heading. Eight more raiders charged in from the woods, yet when they saw their slaughtered companions they gave pause, espcally when Geralt's yellow gaze fell on them.

"How in the hells?!" One muttered. "He's just one man."

"Yah…one who beat the Mountain and the Kingslayer."

"Don't believe that crap."

"I do because I saw it!"

"All of you done talking?" Already Geralt paced closer, spinning his blade in one hand to flick off fresh blood. "Surrender and live or resist and join your friends. Simple choice."

One of the men at the back of the group suddenly turned to run off, the others glance back to watch him disappear into the brush. The rest shifted back, on guard and fearful as the Witcher neared. Seemed they were too thick headed to know they were outmatched.

"Gave you a chance." He muttered before one of the leading men yelled and charged, sword overhead which left him exposed. The man didn't stand a chance as he had enchanted steel pierce right through his gut and split through his spine, making him go limp in an instant. He did not pause as he withdrew his blade, body twisting about to dodge two raiders to attacked from the front and right side.

Three of the men tried to surround him, attacking from all sides wildly to try and outmatch him. Yet compared to the knights from the tourney they were pathetic in skill and tactics. One attack he parried before cleaving across the shoulder and chest, then turning about to slice through another raider's belly when he tried an overhead attack. His stance shifted low to dodge one attack from behind, blade sweeping upward to slash from man hip to chin in one move. All three tumbled over dead, leaving the remaining three gawking in pure horror.

"Yield! Gods we yield!" One yelled as he tossed down his sword, the other two doing the same.

"Smart." Geralt muttered yet he'd notice someone behind the pleading men and some trees, a figure dressed in some worn yet colorful robes. Suddenly the figure tossed something at them which tumbled to land between the Witcher and the men. The thick smell of powder and smoke was all the warning Geralt needed as the bomb's fuse quickly burned through.

"What the-?"

A fierce explosion followed, the three raiders blown to pieces as fire and metal ripped them apart. It took all of Geralt's honed reflexes to dodge away along with flex his fingers to make the Quen Sign, hoping it shield him from the flames and shrapnel. He just hoped the Sign wasn't yoo weakened, else one side of his body be mutilated by the bomb. Yet the magic shield held, flaring as it absorbed the blast although the force still flung him hard into a tree. The rough blow and landing winded him, yet he was quick to grab his dropped sword and stand up once more.

Panting, he'd see the figure was gone, having disappeared in the chaos of the blast. Already he wondered who would use such a rare and exotic weapon, since bombs were limited to only a few knowledgeable groups in this world. Whoever it was they had nearly killed him if it were for his Witcher abilities saving his life.

For now though it seemed the raiders had been wiped out or retreated. He'd return to the camp, needing to find Renly and see if anyone had survived the initial ambush. Pacing around the camp, he'd examine a few of the slain servants and guards, finding them all dead by arrows or stabs to the back. The horses were also gone, either spooked off from the fighting or let loose by the raiders to make sure no one could make a quick escape. Checking one of the raiders, he'd recognize they had a House emblem on the arm or shoulder, a red three headed dragon, the symbol of the Targaryen's.

"Crudely done." He muttered before yanking armor pierce off, touching the emblem to find the paint for it was just fresh. "Recent too." However he stopped speaking when he heard movement behind him, making him tense up and raise his sword. Moving closer to the supply wagon, he'd hear someone mutter from under it as he approached. "Is someone still alive?"

"Ugh…I am…" The familiar voice of Renly spoke out as the young noble crawled out of hiding, bruised and dirtied from what seemed to have been a rough fall.

Geralt relaxed, lowering his sword as he'd examine Renly more closely. "What happened? We heard the attack yet didn't see what happened."

"Archers. Seemed like a dozen considering how many arrows flew." Renly muttered as he glanced around the camp. "Just…one of the guards saved me. Pushed me down under the cart before an arrow got him in the side." By now he'd noticed dismembered limbs of the men Geralt had killed, face paling and quite sickened at the sight. "Where's Robert? Did they hurt him?"

"He and Barristan fled the camp. I just hope I took care of most of the ambushers so they could escape safely." Picking up a sword, he'd offer it to Renly who took it, yet he seemed too shaken to be good in a fight. "We should go, try to find Robert before any more trouble comes."

"Right…right…" Renly nodded in agreement as he'd followed the Witcher through the camp.

Approaching the northern edge of the camp, they'd soon find a small trail of slain ambushers, no doubt Barristan's work considering the lethal cuts and stabs across their forms. Focusing his senses as he'd pick out the two men's trail, following along for a few long minutes. Soon Geralt could hear low voices, mainly Robert who was gave a low pained curse.

"I was careless damn it. Thought I hit him hard enough." He'd hiss out.

"Happens to the best of us sire. You've suffered worse than this." Barristan remarked back.

"Aye…I have."

Geralt and Renly rounded a large grouping of trees to see the two men, Robert sitting back against the tree, one hand grasping at his belly with blood soaking over the cloth and leather. When the King saw his younger brother, he'd smirk a bit yet a thankful look hinted his gaze.

"Again you're surprising me more and more brother. First the boar now arrows…tougher then you look."

Renly shook his head, a grim look on his face. "Servants dead and you've been stabbed, yet you still blabber on about damn pride."

"Pride all I got left right now. Ugh…damn that stings."

Geralt gestured for Barristan to move aside as he'd crouch down, moving the King's arm aside. "Deep stab wound. Going to need more then bandages for this. How did this happen."

"Decked one man in the head as we were retreating. Must have been tougher then he looked or my arm's gotten that weak. Was just table to gut me before I cracked his head open properly…" Robert muttered.

"One wound is all it takes to end a live. May have reached your liver…or what's left of it."

"Heh…amusing Witcher." Robert chuckled weakly.

The Witcher shifted away, looking to Barristan with a serious look. "I can stop the bleeding, yet for every hour we delay the worse his condition will become."

Suddenly there be a familiar voice of Lancel called out back in the direction of the camp. "Your grace! W-Witcher! Is anyone out there?"

"The bloody boy. Guess that little trip to the stream saved his hide." Robert muttered.

"Quiet your grace." Geralt remarked back before looking to Renly and Barristan. "Need to get back to camp and get him onto the cart. He's too injured to ride on a horse safely, even if we had one for him." Geralt looked to Renly and Barristan, nodding for them to help Robert up onto his feet.

"Going to take twice as long to return to the capital on foot, even longer if we have to pull the cart ourselves." Barristan quickly stated.

"Have a plan for that. Let's just get back." Already Geralt was taking the lead, making sure no one surprised them on the way back. Soon he'd see Lancel wandering through the woods, a worried look on his young face as he glanced about. "Seems you're alright there squire."

The boy flinched when he saw the Witcher, yet relaxed when he noticed the rest of the group. "I just returned and…everyone…"

"Dead, I know. Self-proclaimed followers of the Targaryen's."

"Bastards…" Robert muttered, yet he'd give a winced grunt of pain before he could say anything more.

"Overall you're lucky Lancel. Stayed a few minutes longer and you may have been riddled with arrows."

The squire seemed pale for a moment, nodding in agreement. "A yes sir."

The whole group returned to the camp and headed for the supply cart which they clear off to lay Robert down on after getting some blankets to make things more comfortable. With that done Geralt whistled loudly out and after a few moments there be some movement coming to the south until Roach walked out from the forest.

"Where did…" Renly started.

"One of a kind loyalty. You'd be surprise how far Roach has traveled to aid me." Geralt answered casually back as he'd guide the horse to the cart front, getting the mare strapped up to carry the wounded King back to the city. "May no be use to carts yet she'll do."

"Guh…the boar…throw the boar in beside me." Robert grumbled.

"Brother it's just a damn pig." Renly argued back as he'd climb in to sit beside the King. "We'll have a party of guards to come back for it."

"Nah…meat be bad by then. Fucking criminals…kill my men and rob me of my hunting prize." However he'd quickly become quiet, seeming too tired to argue any further.

Lancel got up to the front of the cart to guide the horse forward while Gerlat and Barristan followed on foot to keep watch along the road if any more ambushers lurked about. Soon they were back on the King's Road and heading northward for the capital. After a while though the Witcher glanced to the Lord Comannder, feeling it was time he spoke his mind after these sudden events.

"The Targaryen's didn't plan this." He said in a hushed voice.

"And I'd agree." Barristan answered back.

"Not surprised really, but care to explain your reasons?"

"There is simply no one in Westeros who has any loyalty left to that family. They are all either dead, exiled to the corners of the world or have long lost their faith to the Targaryen line."

"This was a set up. A ruse to kill the King…maybe us included."

"Yet who?"

"Have some ideas…not sure if I can share them…"

At that moment the old man had a sharp look in his eyes. "Witcher I understand your secrecy, yet keeping the truth from me doesn't help anyone."

"Maybe so…but you are a man who puts honor and loyalty to the royal family above all else considering how you let the last king do as he pleased. How can I be sure you won't repeat past mistakes?"

Barristan was silent, yet his gaze showed a hint of anger and guilt at the Witcher's words. "I have always put duty before all else…it is all I've ever believed in when it came to knighthood." Taking a deep sigh, he'd calm himself. "Yet in this case the King's life is in danger and I know the threat is within the court itself."

"It is. Jon Arryn was close to a conspiracy that would affected the future of Iron Throne. Led to him being killed for looking too far."

"How far does this go?"

"To the top…the queen herself."

"You can't be serious…"

"I wish I wasn't." Geralt sighed, wishing he had told Robert sooner before the attack. Right now he knew he needed strong allies like Barristan on his side, honest men that he knew he could rely on. "Cersei's children…their not Robert's…"

…

Off in the distance, the robed man watched the survivors leave the woods and head out on to the open road. He had to admit this attack was a foolish move, yet his employer had insisted on this approach. The attack had to be pinned on the Targaryen exiles, although he had little time to organize more suitable disguises for his group of mercenaries. He wondered if his little speech had been convincing enough at the least mislead everyone.

The man's robes were a dark orange and red color, worn out from the decades and traveling across the land. He was middle-aged yet his face was wrinkled and lightly scarred, chemical burns from his experiments. While he was bald, he had a short pointed beard which he stroked as he pondered over these recent events.

"Stupid…paired with amateurs and thugs…" He muttered. "One bomb and everyone in that tent would be dead, but no…had to leave bodies…put the blame on the Targaryen's…" Growling, he'd grip one hand tightly at his side, half tempting to sneak after the party and kill them now.

"It's rare to see you this angered." His larger companion spoke off to the side, a tall muscular man dressed in just strapped leathers and fur. He was a dothraki because of his darker tanned skin and the curved arakh at his hip. His hair was long and braided like most of his people, yet his face had a large scar across the left side, a gash going upward across the eye which was a dull white. "Has the disgraced alchemist met defeat for once?" The horse raider chuckled in amusement.

"Never." The robed man muttered as he paced about. "We did what were paid to do, make an attempt on King Robert's life under the…requested approach. Had we more time and resources we would have succeeded." Sighing, he'd shake his head. "Would have loved to see the fat bastard dead though. Robert ruined everything for the Alchemist Guild. Stripped us of so much of our power…cost me all my work…"

"Quite the grudge Zarin." The dothraki smirked. "You should have let me join the sellswords. That white haired swordsman's would have-"

"Diced you like the others." Zarin hissed back. "You maybe skilled then most men Ogatto and stronger thanks to my elixirs, yet that Witcher as he is called is beyond human limits."

"You must be exaggerating."

"He survived one of my most powerful bombs from close range. Had enough speed to react along with some…ward that protected him."

"Are you saying is 'conjured' shield? This isn't Qohor, no so called mages with their tricks and illusions."

"Whatever the case, there is much more to him than meets the eye. It will take more than men and steel to kill him."

Ogatto sighed as he'd pace closer, watching the cart fade farther into the distance. "Why should we care?"

"He's a threat."

"He doesn't even know we exist."

The alchemist growled lowly. "Short sighted. Men like him always get in the way of the powerful. Oppose people like us." He'd turnabout, gesturing to their horses tied up close behind them. "Let us go. The royal guard will be here in hours and I'd rather well on our way to the Riverlands by then."

"Why there? Nothing by cheating Freys and stinking swamps." Ogatto questioned.

"Because my dear friend…war is coming. There will be plenty of demand for talented individuals such as us there." The man grinned. "Besides I think it's time we gather up the old crew for a more…special job."

Soon the two rode off, taking the rougher northeastern roads to avoid attention. Already Zarin kept thinking about the white haired man. He had watched the Melee and noted how the man had been just holding back, only putting forth his more inhuman abilities when needed. It matched well with his theories, his life work which so many had disregarded and mocked.

"So mutant…what made you the way you are?" He muttered to himself, a sly grin crossing his face as he already began formulating a new plan.

…

 **Notice: A busy two weeks, however this has become my longest chapter yet. Season one is nearing, with new twists and turns all about as the climax nears. I have some big news to share since I am working on a blog/website to give updated news and possibly start a more active social group on it. I will post the details on my profile, yet I'd love to have some feedback on the idea.**


	21. S1-E20: In the Name of King Robert

**Chapter 20: In the Name of King Robert…**

…

The next few hours were tense as the survivors of the hunting party hurried back to King's Landing, going as fast as the simple cart could go without hurting the injured Robert. Geralt spent most the trip back quietly speaking with Barristan, sharing every details he had learned about Jon Arryn, the truth of Cersei's children and the assassination attempt on Bran. The Lord Commander of the King's Guard had a more troubled look for each piece of information the Witcher shared. By the time everything was told, they were already nearing the city's southern gates.

"You know what this means if you're right." Barristan muttered in a low voice.

"I do." Geralt answered back calmly. "If the truth is revealed it could lead into another war, one that can be just as big as the Rebellion decades back."

"Yet in being silent will put a false line on the throne…either in due time or through untimely means." The knight finished. His gaze was set on Robert who was asleep at the moment, his body covered over with blankets and cloaks to hide from the passing commoners. However plenty of gazes did drift to the group, considering Geralt stood out easily, yet no one seemed to suspect the dire situation taking place.

"Do you really think the Queen could have planned this?"

"She has everything to gain from King Robert's death. Her position in the court with be strengthened and Joffrey will be her puppet on the Iron Throne…if he can be controlled."

"Yet the risks…"

"Ego and power does that. It was a risky move to make an attempt on the King's life, even more with both of us at this side." Already he wondered if that was a dual purpose, to kill anyone who could threaten the Lannisters.

"So what now? I swear by the Seven I won't share what you have told me, but I question what you expect of me."

"I expect nothing from you. Only that you do the right then when the time comes." Geralt simply answered back as the city gate was in sight. "Right now let's focus on saving the King's life. I feel it be best that you speak with the guards and organize a quick route to the Red Keep. I'll guard Robert and focus on getting his injury tended to."

"It is my duty to guard him…" Barristan started.

"Yet you know city better than me and can better organize the Watch. You forget that you can do more than swing a sword Barristan."

In the end the old knight sighed and nodded, unable to argue with the logic behind the Witcher's words. "Very well. I'm counting on you Geralt." He'd hurry to the gate and quickly speak to the captain on watch, gesturing about as he gave a long set of orders. Soon the guards were off, heading into the city streets to alert the rest of the Watch along with direct civilians and travelers aside.

The captain approached the group, giving a short bow before speaking. "Ser Geralt and Lord Renly! Please move forward! The main streets are being cleared open, so make haste."

"Thank you captain. I'll see you promoted for this." Renly remarked back with a small nod while Geralt moved up to the front of the cart and sitting beside Lancel, taking the reins from the squire.

"Let me take over. Speed is needed, and I can handle Roach better." He explained, Lancel nodded in understanding. "Come on Roach!" Cracking the reins, the mare huffed as it quickly moved forward, riding through the city gates and up the main street. The way was clear as the city watch had the civilians away from the center of the street. People muttered out as they saw the Witcher driving the cart, curious at what was going on.

"Lord Renly!"

"Witcher!"

"Where's the King? I saw them with the King!"

The comments drifted about as gossip spread, yet Geralt didn't let the yammering distract him as he'd urge Roach onward at a faster pace. They'd quickly reach Fishmonger's Square and then turn onto the Hook, an arching slopped streetway that lead directly to the Red Keep. It was tricky to travel uphill, yet that made it a strong defendable area if the city was being invaded. They'd soon reach the hilltop and the looming Red Keep, arriving at the main gates.

The way was open with the Keep guards standing at the ready to guide the cart in and seal the gates behind them once they rushed through. Circling about the courtyard to near the main doors into the Keep, Geralt would see a small crowd of familiar faces gathered up. All the King's Guard, Lord Stark, Varys, Queen Cersei and Lord Tywin.

Lord Tywin was speaking with Ned, a serious look on his face as the too muttered to each other. Cersei stood by trying to overhear what they were saying, yet snapped her attention towards the cart once it neared. Varys stood by calmly, arms folded into the loose sleeves of his robes, gaze set on the nearing cart with an alert look in his eyes. Once the cart came to a stop, Renly and Geralt were quick to hop off while the King's Guard hurried forward, surrounding their injured King.

"The King has been wounded. Assassins ambushed us after the hunt." Geralt quickly yet calmly stated.

"We know. The messenger was detailed." Jaime muttered, a tense look on his face. "The Grand Maester is ready to tend to the King, let's get him inside quickly!"

The other members of the Guard stepped up, each one carefully lifting Robert from the cart before Jaime directing them inside, taking leadership in Barristan's absence. It showed just how strong the gold armored knights were to heft up the larger man, even more to carry him into the Keep with such speed and care. Cersei would follow behind them into the Keep, her face quite calm and passive despite the dire state of her husband.

Geralt moved to follow them yet Eddard and Tywin were quick to get in his way, already demanding answers.

"These assassins. Who exactly where they?" Tywin calmly demanded.

"Mercenaries disguised a Targaryen loyalists. Their leader, who escaped, claimed they served Daenerys and Viserys." The Witcher took out the leather armor piece, showing the rushed paint work done to make the three headed dragon mark. "The ambushers all died between me, Barristan and their leader who used some kind of bomb, nearly got me with it as well."

Tywin took the armor pierce, examining it closely before handing it to Ned who checked it over as well.

"There is much to discuss on this matter Ser Geralt…" The older noble muttered.

"Indeed, however I should be tending to the King. I may not be a skilled in the medical arts, yet I understand the extent of Robert's injuries and how to get them properly treated."

For a moment Tywin was silent, yet he'd nod in understanding. "Logical reasoning. Do your best to ensure King Robert's survive…an untimely passing will be troubling."

Nodding, Geralt moved to follow after the King's Guard while Eddard tagged along, no doubt wishing to speak privately with the Witcher and keep an eye on his injured friend.

"Did you tell Robert?" He muttered.

"Was about to before the attack. Only got as far as revealing Joffrey as the one behind the attempt on Bran's life." Geralt whispered back.

"Bad luck. This will only complicate things." Ned paused, a tense look in his eyes. "Do you feel she is behind this?"

Both men focused on Cersei as she rounded the next hallway corner, glancing just slightly before she shifted out of view. Geralt could sense a worry from her, it showed in her pose and gaze.

"From what I know she's the prime suspect. Only she'd make such a rash and risky move." Thinking for a moment, he felt a bit of doubt come to him. "Perhaps my remark to her cause this. She panicked and tried to kill me or Robert before the truth was revealed."

Ned nodded in agreement. "It's likely, yet we have nothing but speculation. We will have to wait and adapt to whatever happens."

Soon they'd catch up to the Queen and King's Guard as they entered the royal chambers, setting Robert down onto the massive bed which had been clear off it's more lavish sheets for plain white linen. Pycelle was at the bedside, a large collection of medical tools, salves and herbs set on a table nearby. Once the knights had set Robert down, Geralt moved closer to the Grand Maester who'd shift closer to the panting King, an aged hand checking at the blood soaked bandages.

"Heavy bleeding even with well-set b-bandages. Troubling…" The old man muttered while Geralt examined the gathered supplies.

"Single yet deep stab, may have just reached his liver." Geralt calmly stated. "He's going to need surgery to have a chance to survive."

Pycelle nodded in agreement. "It will be a delicate matter, yet one I am trained for. Still I would be glad for your expertise on the matter, considering your umm…deep knowledge on the human body."

"Sadly my medical skills are limited." Glancing over the collection of bottled salves and mixtures, he already saw a few solutions to aid in the Grand Maester's task.

"What of your own elixirs Ser Geralt? I've heard among the court you have potions that can heal even deep wounds." Cersei suddenly remarked, drawing the Witcher's gaze to her. He should have expected someone to notice his potions and the fact he had recovered so quickly after then intense Melee.

"Out of the question. Even if the King was in his prime, a watered down Swallow could still kill him or send him into a coma."

"Curious…" Pycelle had a sharp look in his eyes at what the Witcher shared while he gathered up his tools, working on removing Robert's leather hunting vest and cutting off his fine cloth shirt to expose the overweight man's chest and wound.

"Just looking at the possibilities Witcher." Cersei calmly stated. "My husband's life is on the line after all."

"Then trust in our judgement. For now I'd recommend you leave us so we can work in peace." He'd turn back to the table of supplies, picking out a few salves which he'd pour into smaller containers, measuring the amounts before mixing them together.

Cersei didn't answer back, only bowing her head slightly in respect before she'd pace out of the room. Jaime watched her leave, an odd worried look showing in his eyes as he seemed to sense something was wrong about his sister.

"Ser Trant will remain to guard the King while we manage the rest of the Keep. Need to make sure no other assassins try to trouble us."

Geralt simply nodded in agreement before handing Pycelle the concoction he had made. "Have the King drink that. Will greatly numb the pain and relax him."

Jaime paused for a moment, seeming wanting to speak some more yet realizing now was not the proper time. "Then we'll take our leave. I wish the best of luck for both you and the Grand Maester." He and the other King's Guard left while Trant, the knight who had escorted Cersei from the tournament remained, standing attentively in one corner.

Pycelle would notice that Eddard moved to take a seat a nearby chair. "My lord…surely it be best if you left as well."

Ned shook his head. "It is my duty as Hand to be at the King's side during this moment. If his recovery is unlikely…I will need to write his last will and commands if he is able. "

The Grand Maester would give a small mumbling before focusing his attention back to Robert, picking up a tray with needle, tread and a scalp. "Very well Lord Stark. This will be a long p-procedure though…so expect to stay for a while." Putting on a pair of fine gloves, he'd lean in as start examining the full extent of the injury and plan the best approach of stitching everything back together.

Geralt stood by to calmly watch once all the sedatives and disinfectant was made. While he trusted in Pycelle's medical skills he didn't trust the man himself considering his ties with the Lannisters, especially with Cersei. At the least under his observant gaze the old man wouldn't try anything that could further threaten Robert's life. Still even he knew the man's chances were slim, yet a chance was better than nothing.

"Going to be a long night indeed…" He muttered to himself.

…

Hours went by as Pycelle tended to Robert, who'd mutter and groan yet seemed stable enough. The dagger had just reached his liver but it was only a grazing wound at the least. The Grand Maester did well to stitch up the wound after clearing out old blood and bile, a messy process considering. After the proper disinfectants and painkillers were added, stitching were done to steal up the stab wound, leaving a large mark behind. Once bandaged up, Pycelle gave a tired sigh as he'd move away from the bed, a visibly tired look in his eyes as he'd take off the bloodied gloves and set the tools back on the table.

"Been years since…since I'd done such a prolonged procedure." He muttered. "While the wound may be mended, the blood loss and internal stress maybe too much for the King."

"Agreed." Geralt simply remarked as the Maester washed his hands from a large bowl of water. "I remember at Oxenfort, a university I visited in the past, they had been working on blood transfusions."

"Transfusions? The Citadel was doing experiments on such things. Study supply of pain numbing mixtures and such. Required very specialized tools and was…questioned to more conservative circles. I had left by the time the research on the matter was struggling to be maintained."

"Transfusion is a key part of how Witchers like me were made, although the overall process has been loss. The researchers at the university were close to a breakthrough that could have saved a lot of lives, yet the war and Radovid's policies blocked such knowledge from being used."

"Err…shame…quite the shame…" Pycelle finished cleaning himself off along with the tools. "While an interesting subject, all we can do now is wait and hope our efforts are enough for the King." Packing away the tools, the Grand Maester shuffled for the door out. "I'll leave Lord Barratheon's under your watchful care Ser Geralt."

The old man left the room, the door slamming heavily against the frame before Geralt gave a worn sigh. He'd glance to where Ned sat, the northerner rested back in his seat, eyes closed in a light sleep. Just approaching him woke Eddard up, eyes alert for a moment before realizing it was the Witcher. Quickly his gaze shifted to Robert, seeing the fresh bandages over his wounded side.

"He lives?"

"For now." Geralt calmly stated. "If his body isn't what it used to be, but he's far tougher then he looks."

Ned smirked at the remark yet it was short lived. "He was known for his endurance back when we were young. Guess a bit of that remains." Standing up, he'd move to the bedside and look at Robert, the sleeping King's face more peaceful then before. "Despite how often we disagree and argue, we're still friends, he and I." Sighing, he'd shake his head a bit. "I wonder…maybe if I had been at his side after the Rebellion…things could have been different."

"What is done is done." Geralt simply stated. "We can predict what could have happened, only figure out the best course ahead. His gaze did shift to Trant who stood on guard, although there was an obvious bored look on the knight's face.

Ned glanced at the knight as well, knowing they had to be careful over what they said with him close by. "You don't have to remain here. If anything I need you to work with Ser Barristan and the King's Guard to learn everything about the attack." Ned muttered in a low voice.

"I bet the Lord Commander already has sent men back to the King's Wood to gather the bodies and look for clues. Doubt they will learn much…corpses don't often tell many secrets."

"Which is why you should be involved, because you can see details others cannot."

"Robert may need my attention…both for his injury and his protection."

"I don't disagree. However the longer you're distracted the chances of finding proof become slimmer. Leave Robert's protection to me and the King's Guard…at least…those I hope we can trust." Ned whispered the last few words, again giving a wary glance to Trant.

Geralt thought over Eddard's words, feeling that leaving the King unguarded was a risk. "You are right though…" He'd mutter back. "As Hand, authority is in your favor with the King injured like this. Use what resources and influence you can to ensure he's safe."

"I plan to."

"One detail to explain, his treatment." The Witcher moved to the nearby table were the mixed medicine was set by. "Make sure that he is given the proper doses. Small cup every six to eight hours to dull the pain. Ensure he has plenty of water as well. Besides that, call me here if he wakes up so I can talk to him over what happened."

"Simple instructions to follow. I'll remember them well and share them with any other caretakers."

"Good. Again, be mindful of the dosage." He'd turn to leave, giving a small nod for Ser Trant. As he reached the door though, Ned spoke up.

"Tell Arya and Sansa I'll be busy for the next few days. Also…please watch them closely."

Geralt simply nodded back before leave the room, making sure to shut the door behind him. Yet before he even could take another step, his sharp ears heard a shuffling down the nearby corner of the hallway, making him glance over to see the colorful robes of Varys.

"Keeping an eye on your King?" The Witcher calmly asked.

"Partly. I was waiting for you really, although if I had known you'd be in there for so long I'd gotten myself a chair." The chubby spymaster answered back, voice soft and formal yet having a sarcastic hint.

Geralt didn't show a hint of amusement at the jest. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Varys gestured down the hall though, not answering at first. "It be best we speak on the move. I'd rather not stay here any longer."

The Witcher didn't argue as he'd follow the spymaster along, heading down a long corridor. "So what is happening outside and within the Keep?"

"Worry really. The commoners fear for the wellbeing of their King while the nobility wonder who will be in line for the throne."

"They assume Joffrey won't claim it immediately?"

"The prince is still young and inexperienced. If Lord Baratheon does die he'd no doubt place Lord Stark as Lord Regent until the boy is of proper age and temperament…unless deemed otherwise."

"Such as the truth of his real parentage? I wonder…how long have you known? You're the one who pressured me to follow Lord Arryn's trail, so it's obvious you must have done a little snooping yourself."

"A bit, yet only to confirm my own suspicions."

"So then why rely on me and Lord Stark to find the truth? If you've known for months already why haven't you told the King?"

"Because you know very well the crisis that break out if he accepted the truth. It be the Rebellion all over again…" He'd pause, gaze shifting as he seemed to think back to those troubling years. "You know that they won't stop. Those who planned the attack on the King will keep trying and they will succeed."

"You are that certain?" He said that more by reaction, since even he knew Cersei's persistent and ambitious nature was reason enough.

"We all must be mindful for Lord Baratheon's safety now, considering the leader of those mercenaries you faced. You're survival is quite astounding really."

Geralt had shared the details about the robed man he had saw to Barristan, who had no doubt informed others as well. "Care to explain who exactly I faced?"

"A wanted criminal from the Rebellion years, a rogue alchemist by the name of Zarin. He was the Alchemist Guild's most innovative student who had mastered Wild Fire within just his first year and had begun work on new creations." Varys calmly explained. "Explosives, poisons and drugs. His constant experimenting was considering extreme by the elder members of the guild, yet Aery's was always fascinated by his work. Late in the war, Zarin wished to create a unit of battle alchemist to bombard infantry, sabotage structures and poison resources. Nothing was out of bounds to him, so long as it lead to victory or furthering his work."

"He'd fit right in with Nilfgaard. A lot of their inventors are just as ruthless." Geralt remarked. "The bomb he used against me was more powerful than anything I've created. Yet I wonder…surely his work would have turned the war around in Aerys favor."

"Which I agree, however the tide of war was too swift and soon Lord Baratheon was besieging King's Landing. I do know that Zarin was working alongside the grandmaster of the alchemists, Rossart, on some secret weapon. Whatever it was though it was never used or lost when Ser Jaime killed the grandmaster along with Aerys."

"Yet Zarin avoided death or imprisonment"

"The man knew Lord Tywin was going to betray Aerys and that his ties with the former king would be the end of him. Ever since his disappearance, a notable bounty has been placed on his head, yet no one has ever claimed it." Pacing slightly, Varys had a thoughtful look cross his face. "For years I thought he felt to Essos to further his studies and hide away, yet it seems he has returned, although for how long I'm not certain."

"You're saying this man is cunning enough to elude even you?"

Varys gaze narrowed slightly at the remark. "My network is vast yet it's not omnipotent. Zarin never leaves any loose ends as you have seen personally."

"I take you have plans on capturing him?"

"Beyond simply renewing his bounty and notifying my informants. I doubt he will make another attempt on the King's life although you'd best watch yourself…that man will never forget someone like you foiling his plans."

"Not a first for me. Still I'll be careful." Geralt paused for the moment. "Right now it matter how we will deal with the enemies before us. More importantly…what do you plan to do?"

For a moment the spymaster didn't speak, giving a soft smile on his face. "To act when it's best suited."

Geralt sighed, tired of hearing that phrase especially from spies like Varys. "So that means no promises then."

"My strong suit is in the shadows, not out in the open like you or Lord Stark. When the time comes you will learn the value of this." The chubby man slipped both hands into his robe sleeves before giving a small bow. "Yet now I feel I've taken enough of your time. You no doubt have other matters to attend to." With that said, Varys turned to leave further down the corridor, disappearing out of sight as he turned one corner.

For a moment Geralt stood there, a tense look in his eyes before he'd give a small sigh. He wish he knew for certain Varys could be trusted, yet so far the Master of Whispers has been more helpful then an hindrance. Still his experience with spies had him on guard, knowing very well how such trust could quickly turn against you.

"Let's hope you don't end up like Dijkstra then…" Geralt muttered to himself before turning down a side passage, feeling it was best he'd check up on Ned's daughters and tell them about what was going on.

…

The Tower of the Hand was just as well guarded as before yet the men were far more alert with the attack on the King. Still, he had no trouble going up to the guest rooms and was pointed to Arya's room on the right side of the hall.

Knocking at the door, Geralt spoke up. "Arya, it's me."

"Come in!" The girl's voice quickly answered back.

Opening the door, he'd see Arya was busy sheathing Needle as he'd tuck it under her bed. Turning about to face the Witcher she gave her ever cheerful smile, although he'd see the worry hinting her wide eyes. "I…Um…was practicing…"

Geralt crossed his arms as the girl admitted what she was doing. "Didn't Syrios and I tell you could only practice during our lessons?"

Arya glanced aside shyly. "I know but he stopped practice suddenly! I mean…a servant came in saying the King was hurt and…he had an odd look in his eyes, sort of like what you have when something serious happens."

The Witcher was silent, already wondering what the duelist was doing right now. Out of all of Robert's foreign guests he was still the most mysterious at least when it came to his past. However he was snapped out of his thoughts when again Arya spoke up.

"So what happened? Is Rob-…I mean the King doing alright? What about father?"

Geralt moved to sit in a nearby chair before he'd answer back. "We were attacked by mercenaries after a hunt. One stabbed the King badly before we killed them all. Lord Baratheon is stable now but…can easily change in the next few days." Sighing, he'd rub one hand along his chin, feeling over the scruff that had regrown over the weeks. "Your father is watching him now. Has to be at his side in case he has any last commands to give..." For a moment he paused, remembering the look on Ned's face as he stared as his wounded friend. "It's hard to manage seeing an old friend hurt like that."

"Even if they always fight and argue?" Arya questioned, head tilted in a curious manner. "Seems odd for friends to do that."

The girl's remark drew a small chuckle from Geralt. "May seem strange, yet I've had such moments with longtime friends, mainly my fellow Witchers. Always have our differences but we'd always support each other in the end. Despite how long your father and the King have been apart, they still have a bond from all those years ago."

"Then I hope he lives! Maybe a loud and lazy King, but he's funny and friendly as well…better than that Joffrey." She'd scoff at the boy's name, eyes rolling slightly. "Sansa rushed off to see him and the Queen, said she wanted to try and comfort them or something."

Geralt didn't answer back at the mention of Joffrey, the Witcher still unsure how they'd deal with the false prince when the time came around. "He's a troubled boy…but many who grow up into royalty are like that. Perhaps Sansa can soften his rude nature…although only time will tell." He answered back, trying to play neutral on the subject.

Arya gave a small shrug, seeming disinterested on the matter. "Are we at least going to have practice tomorrow at least? I don't want to keep cooped up in this room for the next few days!"

The Witcher thought for a moment before he'd give a small nod. "Course. No harm in catch up on your dueling lessons after so long." If anything, she'd be safer at his and Syrio's side then locked up in the tower.

An excited grin crossed Arya's face before she sprung up on top of the bed to give a short bounce over it. "Thank you!"

"Don't be too excited. Think it's time for a test to see what you've learned, so expect to work hard tomorrow."

A more serious look on her face, almost exactly like Ciri when she was around the same age. Quickly she'd drop back down to sit on the bed, seeming a bit embarrassed with overzealous reaction. "I won't let you down."

"Good. The usual time before lunch then. Best try to be early." Shifting to stand up, he'd move for the door out. "Anyway, it is getting late and I have a few other matters to attend to." Yet before he could leave out the door, Arya spoke up suddenly.

"Umm…Geralt? One other thing." She'd pause as he'd glance back at her. "If you see dad later on…tell him I said hi."

"Of course. Be the first thing I'll do." With a small nod he'd leave the room, making sure to shut the door behind him before making his way down the tower. At the bottom he'd see Jory among the other northern guards, giving a small wave to him to get his attention.

"Anything new to report?"

The captain of the guard shook his head as he followed alongside the Witcher, heading out of the tower and into the main keep. "Lord Stark informed me about staying with the King. Having my best men be on watch at the door for added safety."

"Good. We shouldn't let our guard down, even in the Red Keep. Anything else?"

"Lord Tyrion did wish to speak with you. Originally it was about your prize money from the tourney, yet he no doubt has many questions about the assassination attempt."

Geralt had nearly forgotten about the prize money, along with the deal he had made with the dwarf. Tyrion had no doubt been busy ever since the tournament ended. "Know where he would be?"

"His private chambers in the inner keep. I take you know the way."

Nodding, Geralt moved to head down a different corridor while Jory stayed back. "Then I best head there. Keep up a close watch on Lady Cersei and her father, along with any of the knights or guards loyal to them."

"Sound advice Witcher. Stay safe." The captain watched the Witcher hurry off, feeling a hint of amusement at his remark. "If anything you'd have to be a mad man to threaten him." Smirking, he'd head back to the Tower of the Hand, having to organize the men for any sudden orders.

 **...**

It didn't take Geralt long to reach Tyrion's room, although he didn't enter too quickly as he'd pause to listen for a moment, hearing the familiar voices of Tyrion and Bronn inside.

"Why are you so worried Tyrion? Robert lives and safe in his room, while all those assassins have been dealt with." Bronn remarked, chuckling a bit. "Fucking idiots. Think they shit themselves seeing White Hairs and the leader of the King's Guard charging out of that tent?"

"Amusing as that is, you should realize the issues this attack brings…" Tyrion muttered back, tone quite gravely serious. "Whoever did this won't give up, not while the King clings to an inch of his life." Geralt could hear his small feet pacing about, showing just how nervous the dwarf was. At that point the Witcher decided to knock, drawing a quick reaction from the Lannister. "Come in!"

Opening the door, Geralt would see Tyrion standing close by, the dwarf having a tired look in his eyes. Bronn sat at the nearby, which had a few drained bottles of wines set on it, showing just how much the two had been drinking over the last few days. "Rough few days?" Geralt calmly questioned.

Tyrion nodded as he'd move for the table, filling up one cup of wine while picking up a half filled one that was his own. "Been going all over the city gathering up the bets I've made. A few have been…difficult to collect on. Mainly claim the odds were openly in your favor, yet that his noble arrogance for you."

"Course a stern look and the hint of a dagger had them quickly agreeing." Bronn added with a teasing evil grin. "Have to earn my keep after all."

"Of course…although I wonder just how much you did win Tyrion."

The dwarf took a moment to gulp down his drink before a small smirk crossed his face. "One hundred thousand gold dragons. Not bad for a bit of gambling I say."

Indeed, Geralt was impressed with the sum amount, although he wondered how even high nobility had such money to risk away. "So fifty thousand for me, considering our even split."

Tyrion nodded slightly, although the Witcher could tell the dwarf hated parting with half of his winnings. "Lannister always pays his debts as they say." However he'd pause as he'd tap his fingers at the side of his cup. "However there is a small matter about your…winnings from the Melee."

The Witcher gaze quickly became stern at the sudden news. "What do you mean?"

"I don't exactly have the prize money here at the Red Keep. You do know of crown being in debt…it just happens that the money owed to you is from the Iron Bank itself."

"So you mean it's in a deposit all the way in Essos…" He grumbled.

"Securely deposited! The money is all yours and I've made sure to manage all the paperwork…a…small pile of it." Tyrion muttered unamusingly.

"So how exactly do I collect it? Do I have to sail all the way to Bravos and chat with the bankers directly?"

"It be the more assured manner to collect all your coin. However they do have agents in a few major keeps and cities such as here in King's Landing." Tyrion picked up a few papers set nearby, a few being dull legal documents although one page detailed key information on his fortune. "Best keep those papers safe or memorize the details."

Geralt sighed before nodding, guessing this was a minor setback. "Guess it be difficult to carry all that coin and keep it safe." Tucking the papers into one pocket, he'd move over to the chest Tyrion had pointed out earlier to check over the pouches of gold coins within it. He'd check through a few pouches just to be certain, even taking out a hand full of gold coins to closely examine. "Seems like it is all there. At least there is one Lannister I know who'll pay me fairly."

"Amusing as always Geralt." Tyrion chuckled. "I'll admit our partnership has done well for us both…surely we could-"

"Sadly no." The Witcher interrupted. "While I appreciate the offer, I do have my own matters to settle."

"You mean political issues." Tyrion sighed. "Thought you claimed to be one to avoid such trouble."

"Just something I can't avoid getting involved in…not after what has happened today." His gaze did drift to Bronn who quickly knew this was a private matter.

Tyrion stepped around the table, one hand tapping the side of his drinking cup. "You do know you're treading into dangerous ground. I know you and Lord Stark are preparing for something, having organized those loyal so closely along with calling in men loyal to House Baratheon."

"Because if Robert's life is threatened then so can Lord Stark's." Geralt calmly stated. "Besides, the threat is a lot closer then you may think."

"I have no doubts that the conspirers are among us here at the Keep…yet the look on your face tells me you know who they are."

Geralt didn't answer back, feeling it wasn't safe to share the truth with Tyrion. While he was a Lannister, he doubted he was involved with his sister's schemes, yet perhaps knew faintly about them.

The tense silence had Tyrion give out a sigh and bow his head slightly. "I don't intent to stop whatever you and Lord Stark are planning, yet I warn you to be careful. When you play the game of thrones, you win or die. There is no middle ground."

"A saying of your own making?"

"No…my sister's, something she said she shared with Eddard earlier today." He'd pause, gaze calm yet dead serious. "I'm not stupid or blind, I know Cersei has much to gain from the attack on Robert, whether it by her own planning or taking advantage of an unknown threat."

"Sounds like you don't wish to see her accused."

"Of course not. We may…dislike each other but in the end, she is family. I won't defend her if she was behind this, I know better then to let her choices pull myself and the rest of the family down."

Geralt was silent after hearing the dwarf's answer, sensing he meant what he said although with a hint of hesitance. "Not concerned over what may happen to her?"

"No…because in the end I trust you will be jest to even her. You maybe the deadliest man in all of Westeros but you have a better sense of right and mercy then most."

The Witcher nodded as his gaze glanced to the door out, feeling there was little else to say. "Then I'll consider that good favor from you. Trust me Tyrion, I'd rather avoid bloodshed." Setting his cup at the table, he'd move to leave. "If you learn anything, please let me know."

"Of course, Geralt. Be careful out there."

Leaving the room, the Witcher decided it was time to go to his room for the night, the long and stressful day finally getting to him. With a deep sigh, he knew the next few days would be tense ones throughout the city and Red Keep. There were nagging self-doubts, part of him wishing he could ride off with his fortune and focus on Ciri, even if she was well beyond his reach. Yet he'd remember seeing Bran laying across bloody rubble, thrown from that tower by someone he considered a worthy rival. He'd clench one fist, thinking he should track down and confront Jaime right then, but knew letting his emotions get the better of him now be a risk.

"Tomorrow…" He muttered as he reached his room, making sure to double lock his door for the night before going to bed.

…

Arya quickly side stepped as Geralt swung his practice sword at her, shuffling in as he kept the distance between them short. The girl had Needle in hand, focusing on using it for parrying and blocking instead of attacking back. While practice swords were safer, both of her teachers knew Arya needed to understand her personal weapon, so a more involved practice was needed. They also were teaching her how to combat common fighting styles, Geralt using basic sword styles fitting of Westeros while Syrios focused on agile dueling.

"Redirect instead of blocking." Geralt sternly instructed. "Your sword isn't meant for direct strikes and I doubt your arm will handle strong blows too well."

He'd give Arya a moment to catch her breath, the girl seemed a bit baffled at how unfazed the Witcher was keeping up with her agile pace. "I know…but its hard to do when I'm constantly having to move!" She argued.

Suddenly Geralt lunged in, doing a light shove with his forward leg to knock her onto the ground. She'd give a gasp from the fall, giving an annoyed look at first before seeing the Witcher's smirk. "And that's why. Imagine if I had kick or tackled you instead, you'd be dazed and helpless." He explained. "Your size makes you fast and harder to hit, but light and fragile."

He'd offer a hand to help her you, Arya nodding in understand as she'd grasp it to be pulled up. "Guess there is more to fighting then I thought."

"For you and many others its different. You have a lot to learn, but you've done in the last few weeks."

The compliment had Arya grin with pride, making Syrio laugh slightly.

"Don't give her too much praise Geralt. The pride is the bane of even the finest warriors after all." The duelist chuckled. "I think a short break is need for now. A quick lunch would do you some good."

"Well…" She started before her stomach made a small growl, making her glance away a bit in embarrassment from how the duelist smirked. "...Alright maybe your right. Yet you two better not run off while I'm away." Sheathing Needle, she'd set the small blade at the bench before hurrying off, giving a pairing wave to the two before leaving the open hall.

"Does has that classic Northern stubbornness. At the least she knows well when to listen." Syrio remarked as he'd look back at Geralt. "She'll be a fine duelist once she grows up."

"Rather she'd not make a career fighting like you or me." Geralt answered back calmly. "This is about teaching her on how to protect herself, nothing more."

"I…of course." The duelist seemed a bit taken back by the Witcher's set answer and felt it best not to say more on the subject. "Training aside, I feel there is a more pressing matter we should discus."

"About King Robert?"

A more serious look showed in the Braavosi man who nodded in response. "I know things are becoming more dangerous here. Being a guest here does lessen suspension on me and lets me keep an eye on certain matters."

"Such as?"

The duelist paused, pacing a bit before leaning in to whisper. "I caught word among the servants that a certain Lannister of low standing would be leaving today, a squire you may know as Lancel." He'd see a hint of surprise in the Witcher's eyes, drawing a grin from the Syrio. "No doubt it is suspicious that the Lord Baratheon's personal squire suddenly make plan to leave or is at least following the directions of his betters."

"Why didn't you teller me earlier today?" Geralt sternly questioned.

"Because I didn't want to distract you from your promise with the girl, besides the walls have ears in this keep. I can say now be the best time to confront the boy before he disappears."

After a short pause of thought, Geralt nodded in agreement. "Tell Arya then that I was called away on a private matter. Try to keep her distracted for the rest of the day." Already he'd move for the door out, yet he'd stop halfway at the doorway. "Also, Syrio…keep your rapier on hand from now on. Just in case." With his own warning given, he'd hurry away yet notice the thoughtful look the duelist had just as he left.

Moving through the Red Keep at a hasty pace, he'd soon enter the main courtyard and head for the stables. Nearing the main doors, he'd hear a familiar nervous voice before he entered. He'd see Lancel quickly tying the last few bags to his horse's saddle, hands fumbling with the knots.

"Leaving so soon?"

The chilling voice of the Witcher had the Lannister squire gasp, becoming still before glancing over one shoulder to see those fierce cat-like eyes staring back. "I-I was just…setting a mount for a knight who is leaving Ser Geralt." He quickly remarked back.

"Really now? Which knight would that be, maybe a friend of mine."

Lancel's gaze glanced about, muttering a bit to himself as he tried to make an excuse. "Uhh…Ser Loras!"

The Witcher crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly at the answer. "A lie."

"W-What?"

"Loras was planning to stay longer then a few days after the tournament. He told me himself."

"Umm…surely he must have changed p-plans."

Geralt stepped closer, the squire backing up until bumping the back of the horse stall wall. "Seems like a lot of supplies to just get to Highgarden. Road there is quite easy to travel from what I heard…though the route to Casterly Rock is much more difficult."

"Ser your-"

"No more excuses Lancel. I know you had a part in the ambush, considering the timing of the attack was too convenient for you." He'd pause, letting his accusation sink in. "Now tell me the truth…"

"I can't…" He'd mutter, panic in his voice. "If I did they'll-"

"Kill you? I thought Lannisters look out for each other."

"We do but…NO! You misunderstand."

The slip of up with his words was clue enough for Geralt as one hand reached out for the squire's shirt collar, gripping it firmly to stop the him from trying to slip away. "Did Cersei tell order you to signal the assassins and to leave the Red Keep?"

"S-She…she didn't." The boy yelped as his back was slammed against the stall wall roughly. "Alright m-maybe she suggested a few things?"

"Such as?"

Lancel was silent, eye glancing away to avoid Geralt's unblinking gaze. "She…thought it be best that Lord Baratheon enjoy the strong wine again. To…umm…calm his nerves during the hunt."

"The wine…" Geralt remembered it was the same stuff from the tournament, strong enough to even faze him. "Sounds like to get him drunk and dull his reactions. Could have gotten him killed when that boar attacked."

"I didn't wish any harm to the King!"

"No, but Cersei would. Now what about the assassins?"

"I…was told some old friend of the Baratheon's wanted to make a surprise visit. The queen have me a signal whistle and…told me where to use it."

"Where is the whistle?"

"Urg! I…destroyed it…part of orders."

Geralt was silent, annoyed that possible proof was now gone. While Lancel was easy to squeeze information out of, he doubted the squire be a reliable witness, being low standing among the Lannisters. It be easy for them to deny any connection to them or even claim the squire was pressured into giving a false confession.

"So now I must ask, why did you do it?"

Lancel blushed slightly, shifting a bit before Geralt kept him still with his strong arm. "I can't…its personal…"

"Fine then." His free hand moved up, fingers flexing to make the Axii Sign before the young man's eyes. With the spell cast the Lannister relax quickly and a dazed look crossed his eyes. "What did Cersei off you."

"Knighthood and the pleasure of…sharing her bed again." He muttered in a hazy voice. A goofy grin crossed his face at the mention, making Geralt sigh and shake his head in disgust.

Quickly he'd gesture again for Axii. "Change of plans. Cersei needs you to stay and keep an eye for her… it is your duty after all." However, when he finished the spell, a sudden dizziness coursed through him which made him loosen his grip on the squire. Yet the Sign seemed to work as Lancel rubbed his forehead, seeming confused as his memory was now muddled.

"I was? I think so…" Shaking his head, he seemed to snap out of the daze. "Shouldn't be running off. Not now at least!" Quickly he'd move to get his saddle unpacked, losing all focus on Geralt who shifted away unnoticed. Hopefully Lancel wouldn't remember being interrogated at least for a good while.

Quickly leaving the stables, he'd catch his breath as the dizzy feeling faded away. He had felt this way before when he was slowly regaining the use of his Signs years ago after escaping the Wild Hunt, having to draw power from his body rather then his surroundings. "Getting worse." He muttered to himself before heading towards the main hall of the Red Keep, deciding it be best to remain in his quarters until called for. Passing through the hall though, he'd notice the grand door to the throne room open, making him wonder if anything was going on.

He'd near the open doors and look down the long throne room, seeing Lord Tywin speaking Jaime, both standing close to the looming Iron Throne. It seemed like a tense conversation from the tone of it, yet from this distance Geralt couldn't hear what exactly was being discussed. There was still a sense of distrust towards Tywin after their meeting during the tournament, since the man's ambitions made it difficult to predict how he'd react Cersei's schemes and taboo relationship with her brother. For now, he felt proper timing was needing to force the lord to make a choice. Approaching the two, they quickly finished their conversation before Tywin turned to face the Witcher.

"Good day Lord Lannister." Calmly said, bowing his head slightly in formal respect. His gaze shifted to Jaime, yet he didn't greet him.

"Geralt. You continue to impress with your wide range of talents considering how you handled Lord Baratheon's injury. Maester Pycelle was right to praise your intellect." Tywin answered back.

"The Grand Maester did most of the work sire. I simply assisted and advised."

"Even so, the King may have a chance to live because of your efforts both here and out during the hunt. I spoke shortly with the Lord Commander Barristan who recounted your timely reaction in saving both him and the King."

"From what the guards told me they found two dozen raiders slain. Ser Selmy claimed to have killed seven while the King took down three on his own. It seems the other eleven are credited to you."

"Eight actually. The leader of the assassins killed three others with a bomb to try and kill me." Geralt corrected.

"While still an impressive amount, I feel my son focuses on the wrong issue here. We still know nothing of these assassins except that they seem to be locals from what the guards have gathered. Simple sellswords and thugs who came to see the tournament." Tywin quickly added. "They may have the Targaryen mark on their armor, yet it's little more than a crude disguise to mislead us."

"Came to the same conclusion. Yet with no one to question we have nothing to go with."

"Then let's hope the mastermind stops here then." Jaime chuckled, yet neither his father or the Witcher showed any amusement at the jest, making him quickly become quiet.

"For now, we let the Lord Commander and City Watch do their job. It be best that you and the rest of the King's Guard focus on Lord Robert's protection." Geralt remarked to the golden-haired knight.

"Which my son and fellow knights will do dutifully." Tywin added, a stern hint in his voice. "If you will excuse me, I have to attend to official matters. The rest of the nobility needs some assurances with what has happen after all." The older lord moved pass the two to leave the throne room, seeming to have nothing left to say.

For a moment there was silence as Geralt glanced back at Jaime, the knight seeming to relax slightly with his father gone. However, he'd notice the conflicted look Jaime had yesterday morning before leaving on the hunt.

Jaime sighed and shrug. "As always…focused on politics."

Geralt simply nodded back. "That is a matter for him to worry about. Right now, I want to know what you wanted to say to me before I left on the hunt."

Being reminded of that moment, Jaime was silent as he'd pace a bit, moving closer to the looming Iron Throne. His gaze drifted along the tiled floor before the rough metal steps to the bladed seat. "I've been thinking over many things since our fight. Of choices I've made…"

"Choices that have hurt others?"

The calm yet stern tone of the Witcher's voice had the knight glance over, a battle-ready tension showing in his sharp eyes. "What are do you mean?" He calmly questioned.

"Winterfell and Bran Stark."

The blunt statement drew a hint of surprise in Jaime's eyes, something a normal person would have missed yet not the sharp gaze of a Witcher. However, the Lannister knight kept composed yet the respectful look he had soon earlier was replaced by a smugger one. "So, you think I pushed that boy out of that tower? I've done many things Geralt but I'm no child killer."

"You get one chance."

"What?"

"One chance to admit it." Geralt calmly stated, the cold threatening tone enough to make Jaime's confident look disappear. "I know who you were with in that tower and what you were doing. Don't give a damn about it…right now I want you to admit what you did to Bran."

Jaime was tense, right hand at the grip of his sword after what he had just heard. However, he'd see how calm the Witcher was, not even tense or reaching for the blade on his back. For a long moment neither more and seemingly breathed, yet in the end the blond-haired knight relaxed his grip and gave a deep sigh. "Guess I should have expected someone like you to figure it out. Cersei was right about you. Guess she knew an outsider with your cunning would notice." A low amused chuckle escaped from him. "When that boy saw us, we were all startled at first. He lost his grip and I only just reached him before he nearly tumbled down." He'd pause, slowly pacing to circle around Geralt but the Witcher followed along to keep them both facing each other.

"The boy had such a scared look, yet I'm not sure if it was from what he saw or nearly falling. Cersei though…oh she was terrified, kept saying how he 'saw us'. Talked to the boy a bit, complimented his climbing…learned how young he was…then pushed him when his guard was down." He'd gesture his hands out in a showman's manner yet despite the jesting move Geralt saw the way Jaime kept his gaze focused to the ground. "So yes, I did push Bran from that tower. I did it to protect my family and her

Again, silence filled the hall after Jaime finished his confession. Geralt flexed his right hand tensely, trying to keep the building anger in check. He knew Jaime was trying to provoke him and make him be the aggressor, get him blamed for assault. "I did misjudge you Jaime. I thought you were a decant man…overconfident and cocky, yet decent." He coldly muttered. "Right now, I'd love nothing more than to break your legs and make you suffer the same fate you gave to Bran. That be justice in my eyes…yet it wouldn't fix anything."

"How noble of you showing such restraint." The knight's tone was low and mocking, trying to taunt the Witcher on. "So, what now then, we just shake hands and go our separate ways? How can I trust you now after what you've told me?"

"Because I didn't tell your father when I could have. He's a smart man, may very well know but is in denial or doesn't care…at least until it risks crumbling everything he has built." There was another tense pause. "Besides in the end I trust you more than him…

"Heh you have an odd sense then." He'd shake his head in frustration. "I can't deny your logic though and besides…your too damn honest to lie." His hand slipped from the grip of his sword at that point. "You best go now Geralt before I get second thoughts. Rather not doubt myself in making this choice."

"Aye. Yet one last piece of advice, don't trust Cersei."

Jaime stifled back a laugh before the Witcher could finish. "And why is that? Why should I fear betrayal from my own twin?"

"Because I've seen what women like her do to others. She'll use you for a long as possible before throwing you aside. In fact, she already is…just ask Lancel."

However, before anything else could be said, there were sudden hurried footsteps coming from the main hall and moving into the throne room. The page sprinted to the Witcher and knight, stopping to catch his breath, the young man bowed to them both before speaking.

"Ser Geralt…Ser Jaime…the king…he's awake." He gasped out between breaths. "He's requested to speak with you."

"Very well." Geralt glanced at Jaime who remained silent, only nodding in agreement to follow along. The page gave a short bow before moving to lead the way to Robert's room with Witcher and knight close behind.

…

"Gah! What do you mean no wine?!"

Robert's voice was easily heard down the hall as Geralt and Jaime neared the royal bed chamber, a string of grumbling curses soon following. Entering the room itself Pycelle had shifted away from the bed as the King had clumsy swiped an arm at him in frustration while Ned hurried over trying to keep his friend from struggling out of bed.

"Damn it Robert calm down!" He snapped out, making the large man give a low growl of annoyance before obeying.

"I got a damn hole in my side…if a damn bit of drink is going to kill me then I'd prefer dying that way." At this point he'd see Geralt arrive, making a small smirk cross his face. "Well Witcher, not sure if I should curse or thank you for saving my life here."

"Prefer thanks your grace considering you wasted your cursing on Pycelle. He had just as much of a hand in saving you."

The sarcastic remark had the King give a laugh which quickly turned into a grunt as pain went through him. "Fair enough…" He muttered as he'd relax back in bed with a low sigh. "So how long have I been out? Few days or something?"

"About a day." Eddard answered back. "Most thought you wouldn't even wake but they underestimated your tenacity."

Robert smirked with a bit of pride, yet Pycelle spoke up at this point. "It is fortunate, but we shouldn't be too…err…joyful. Your injury was quite serious after all. Infection and blood loss can still bring…umm…unexpected complications."

"I know that well enough." Robert grumbled, seeming annoyed yet understanding of the risks.

"Which is why there are important matters to discuss." Ned added, his tone more serious to his old friend.

The King only simply nodded before glancing back at Pycelle. "So, anything else needed Grand Maester? If not, I'd prefer privacy on official matters."

Pycelle had a small frown cross his face, yet he'd grumble something and nod in agreement. "As you wish your grace." He'd gather up some of his medical supplies before shuffling out of the room.

"And Kingslayer?" Jaime looked attentive as he was spoken by his infamous title. "Know your no massager boy but I feel you'd be best suited telling Cersei of my…partial recovery."

"If you feel that is for the best your grace." Jaime answered back with a small bow before turning to leave. However, he gave a parting sharp look to Geralt as he passed by the Witcher and walked out of the bedroom as well. The Witcher knew it was risky being direct with Jaime, yet he was trying to make a point in doing so.

Focusing back on Robert, Geralt moved closer to the bed while Ned pulled up a chair along with writing board set with fine parchment and quill. It wasn't hard for the Witcher to understand a decree of some kind was about to be written. "Is it proper for me to be here?" He questioned.

"Considering you saved my life twice over and if anything, I trust you more than Pycelle listen in. Man's far too shifty for his age." He'd give a small pained scoff. "Anyway, let's get this over with…" Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts he'd continue to speak. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of…" A tired sigh escaped him before shrugging his shoulders. "You know how it goes, fill in the damn titles."

Ned nodded yet couldn't help, but give an amused smirk at his friend's remark.

"I hereby commend Eddard of House Stark…titles titles…to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm because of my inability to rule. If death comes for me, he is to continue ruling in my stead until my son Joffrey comes of age."

For a moment was tense look hinted Eddard's face as his quill hand paused before continuing. Geralt wondered what Ned had written down since his swift hand movements hinted a different form of wording.

Robert gestured for the writing board which Ned hesitantly handed over along with the quill. The King was quick to simply sign the decree, seeming to trust what Ned had written down. He'd hand the board back, giving a pained grunt before relaxing back on the bed. "Let us hope the later part of that decree doesn't come to pass. Ugh…rather enjoy living a little longer." The King bowed his head a bit before glancing right at Ned. "You'll rule for now. Hate every moment of it, but you'll do it well."

Lord Stark nodded as he'd take the decree off the board and roll it up. "Of course. Right now, you focus on recovering old friend. Injured or not, ruling is your duty still."

"Bah…stop reminding me." Robert grumbled, waving one hand about in annoyance. "If that is so, then I order you to give that decree to the Council immediately. Don't care if you have to drag them all into that blasted room, just get it done."

"As you wish your grace." Lord Stark stood up and gave a short bow out of formally, even when Robert shook his head in tired amusement. The Witcher moved to stand up as well, yet the King spoke up again. "Not you Geralt. Didn't call you here to be just a witness…but to talk as well."

The Witcher shared a short look with Ned who nodded, assuring Geralt that he'd be fine on his own. Ned soon leave the room, closing the door behind him loudly. "Let me guess…you want my professional opinion?"

"On what, how long I got left?" Robert gave his famous deep chuckle which quickly became a pained grunt. "I've had my share of injures and seen more then I can count. Give myself a fifty-fifty as they say."

"Eh, about the same guess I made."

"Heh…like minds think alike." Geralt didn't grin back at the statement, which only made the King smirk smugly before it disappeared. "The attack…I know it wasn't the girl or her bother. Too sloppy…improvised…fake." Sighing, he seemed disappointed. "Wanted a reason to war with them. An excuse. Didn't come when the moment was right."

The remark was surprising for Geralt. "I remember you eager for blood back at the camp. Guess you had some sense win out in the end."

"Ugh, don't push it Witcher, I'm not as stupid as I look." The King snapped back. "I know that you or the King's Guard will find the bastards who planned this."

"I have gotten some leads…some of which you may not believe."

"What like my own wife planning my death?" He'd jest back, yet seeing the Witcher's serious look had him become silent. "Gods…you don't mean…"

"Like I said, I have leads. In the end the Queen as the most to gain after all and it is logical to suspect her."

"I don't believe it. That woman can be cold and distant at times, but that seems far for her."

"Maybe you simply don't know her as well as you think."

For a moment Robert seemed ready to lash out with an insult, yet he'd bite it back and give a sigh. "Aye. I'll admit…twenty years and we feel as apart as our wedding night." He'd rub one hand crossed his bearded face, trying to clear away the wearily look on it. "Wish I hadn't taken the Throne that day. Yet the power…the temptation to rule it all. I thought it give me the freedom to do as I pleased, yet in the end it's been nothing more then a shackle. Trade it all just walk off into that sunset road to anywhere but here."

"Sounds like a fairy tale from how you describe it."

"Perhaps it is…then again you yourself are a living fable. The stranger with a knight's honor and the might to match the nation's finest. Many a man would trade it all to have your life."

"Trust me, it's not worth it." Geralt's cat like eyes looked directly at Robert's gaze and for a moment the King could 'see' the lifetime of struggle the Witcher had fought.

"Maybe…maybe…" The King muttered as he looked away. "Guess we all carry burdens that no one else should have." Slowly his gaze drifted to the nearby table, noticing the wine decanter set on top of it.

"It wouldn't be advised your grace." Geralt warned.

"I know. Yet the pain in my side just won't go away and no matter how much water I've had it doesn't ease the thirst I have."

There was a pause before the Witcher sighed, guessing one drink wouldn't kill the King. Getting up and moving to the table, he'd fill up two cups for them both before returning to the bedside. It was a bad idea, yet having Robert relaxed would be useful. After all he felt it maybe time to reveal the truth about Joffrey not being his truth son…though he felt revealing Jaime as the true father was too risky to share just yet. "One drink and that is it for a week."

"Fair enough. To our health Witcher!" Tipping his cup in a slight toast, both taking a deep drink from their cups. Robert gave a deep satisfied sigh as he finished the last drop, a livelier gleam showing in his eyes. "A fine choice on this one. Unique sweeter taste though." Yet when he looked to Geralt an odd look crossed his face, a mix of shock and confusion. "Gods! Geralt what's with your face?!"

Quickly Geralt glanced at his hands, see the veins under his pale skin suddenly becoming darkened. His heart started to beat faster, painful so since it usually beat at only the fourth of a normal man, only quickening when handling his potions or… "Poison!" He stood quickly up from his chair, knocking it back loudly as he reached at Robert who suddenly tensed up, the larger man breathing becoming shaky as he dropped his cup.

"Witcher…I…" His hand grabbed over his heart, body struggling as whatever poison was coursing through his body.

Geralt could feel it too, like a clawed hand squeezing over his rapidly beating heart, trying to choke the life out of it. Yet his body was adaptive to this as he'd force through the pain. By this point the door opened as the King's Guard from outside hurried in, seeing Geralt gasping for breath while Robert shook on the bed, eyes rolling back.

"Get Pycelle now!" Geralt yelled out as he grabbed at Robert's, forcing the man's chittering jaw open as he tried to force him to puke. He wasn't certain if it was too late or not, yet purging was the best choice he had. He'd growl out as the King bit down on his fingers shoving into his throat, making Robert gag out. Pulling his hand back, Geralt watched as Robert heaving loudly, throwing up his last meal and the wine. Yet it wasn't enough, Robert rolled on the bed as the seizure he was only worsened, his body not fit to handle the shock.

"No no no!" The Witcher tried to keep the King in place, seeing the wound on the side reopen from his struggling. It was hard to keep a man so large still even with his mutant strength, along with the fact that his own body was fighting the poison off. Robert's eyes were wide, fear showing in them as he stared at Geralt before slowly becoming still. He could feel the man's heart become silent, making him growl in anger. "Damn it…not again…happening all again…"

At that point he heard many hurried footsteps, making him turn about to see Barristan and the rest of the King's Guard. The old knight stared at the scene in pure disbelief, stepping closer to gaze at his King's dead eyes. "He's…"

"Murdered." Geralt muttered as he turned to look a Barristan. His yellow eyes were intense, enough to make even the experienced knight recoil from the intimidating glare and sickening dark color hinting the Witcher's veins. "Poison. Not sure what…but it was strong…very strong." The Witcher groaned as again pain surged through his chest before subsiding.

Barristan moved to get Geralt away from the bed while the two other King's Guard moved closer to their fallen ruler, muttering lowly at the sickly sight before them. "How did you survive?"

"Bodily resistance. Decades of building it up…through herbs and potions…" He explained back. "Whatever this was…it was fast acting. Should mean the poison is simple yet potent…no doubt easier to identify."

"Yet who…"

"You know very well who could have planned this." There was a tense growl to the Witcher's words. "Who else could have access to Robert's personal drink and quarters without drawing attention."

The Lord Commander was silent, unsure what to believe at this moment. "Then I pray you are wrong Geralt. Because if it true…"

"I know…it means war…"

…

 **Notice: Well this has been quite the delayed chapter. Overall happy holidays everyone! It has been a busy month and half for me as the winter season has played out. However, I am now returning to my usual weekly postings since I will have more free time from now on. This was another chatty chapter, but everyone knows well what will come next. Expect the next chapter to come out around News Year, a fitting time for season one's end.**

 **In other News: I have a good few beta readers selected, yet I still like to have more. All you need to do is PM here on FanFic or massage me on my blog at WitcherXGoT at Wordpress. 18 years or older are preferred along with an appropriate level of literacy in English. Good knowledge of Game of Thrones and the Witcher are favored as well.**


	22. S1-E21: To Court Chaos

**Chapter Twenty-One: To Court Chaos**

 **Forward: I'd like to thank Rainsfere and Max000, my current beta readers, for their help on editing on this chapter!**

…

"Three days…and not a single clue."

Geralt stared out over the city from his balcony, hand tapping on top the stone barrier. The city still rang with the sound of bells and he swore he could still hear wailing as the people mourned. They all saw Lord Baratheon as the war hero who ended a tyrannical dynasty and brought peace to all the Kingdoms.

"I should have drink first for safety reasons. I let my guard down and didn't suspect on such an obvious approach."

"You couldn't have known. No one could have suspected Robert's personal wine was tampered with." Eddard muttered while standing beside him. "If anything, it is a miracle you survived. That was a specialized breed of Wolfsbane that kills in minutes…yet you seemingly recovered in just a day."

"If it wasn't for my mutations, I'd be having my own funeral alongside the King." He'd pause in thought for a moment. "It makes me wonder. Whoever poisoned the bottle may have been trying to target you as well. Robert always was able to coerce you to take a drink or two. Kill two birds with one stone.

The thought of being a fellow victim had Ned pale slightly, gaze shifting away from the Witcher, no doubt thinking of the sorrow his daughters would have felt. "Aye…that would be a troubling end."

Both were silent, lost in their thoughts over the last few days. Ever since the King's death, Geralt had been mostly confined to his room for 'safety' reasons, at the least from what Barristan had claimed. The Witcher knew better through as he was under close watch, practically under house arrest. There were always two guards watching his room and whenever he left, they'd follow him about. It made sense considering he had been alone with the King with only the fact that he too had been poison given him some proof of innocence.

"Does anyone else know of the decree?"

"No. I didn't get a chance to gather the Council and reveal it. Everyone is too caught up with what is going on."

"Then let's hope it gives you the authority needed to keep everything in order. Though I wonder…what did you write at the end of it."

"What?" A hint of surprise showed on Ned's face before he remembered just how attentive Geralt was. "I wrote down 'rightful heir' instead of Joffrey. It is deceitful I know…but it was the only choice to follow without telling Robert the truth."

"Should have just told him."

"Should have…maybe that would have saved him that day…" Ned muttered in agreement. "Beyond that I've sent out ravens yesterday to Winterfell, Dragonstone and other major holdings. I've proclaimed Stannis Baratheon to be the rightful heir and Joffrey's being false."

"All of the details."

"All of it."

Geralt was silent, now understanding what all those letters were about now. "So, a failsafe then. Inform the other lords of the Kingdoms of the corruption happening in the capital. Guess it will at least draw questions to Joffrey's legitimacy and damage the Lannister's image."

"I take no pride in it. Like I've said, underhanded moves like this are against everything I stand for."

"Desperate times desperate measures." The Witcher muttered in agreement. "What else is there?"

"A mix of good and bad news. Which should I tell first?"

"The bad, rather get that over with."

Ned nodded. "Lord Renly has fled the capital with Ser Loras alongside him along with all those loyal to them. After what happened to his brother, he is too fearful to remain at the Red Keep. Any support he can offer is beyond our reach."

"Damn it…that is bad. So, what is the good news?"

"New allies have arrived. Beric Dondarrion, Lord of Blackhaven, a vassal house deeply loyal to the Baratheons. He answered my call for support and came to the Red Keep just yesterday with a sizable group of loyal bannermen. Hopefully he'll be able to give us an edge of fighting does break out."

"Do the Lannister's suspect?"

"Maybe. Lord Tywin no doubt questions it, but to everyone else it seems Lord Beric and his men are simply here paying their respects to their liege."

"Still going to be difficult if a conflict breaks out. Between his forces and your own we still have the Watch, Tywin's soldiers and the King's Guard to possibly deal with. We need to win support of the Watch or most of the King's Guard to tip the odds in our favor."

"Which I can give you."

The sudden voice had both Geralt and Eddard quick turn about to see Lord Baelish sitting at the nearby table, the noble giving his iconic sly grin to the two. The man seemed to have slipped into the room uninvited, something that annoyed the Witcher.

"Thought you wanted to play neutral on the matter." Geralt remarked back coldly. He still remembered his confrontation with Littlefinger after the tourney, how he had forced the truth out about the man's lie about Tyrion.

"The King's murder has changed my view on the matter. Some feel that Joffrey should take the throne because he's the 'true' heir, while others feel the more experienced hand of Lord Stark is needed for now." He'd glance between the two, keeping his casual friendly demeanor. "Chaos and strife in the court is bad for business in general. You must understand my interests are for the best of all of Westeros."

Ned remained silent, staring tensely at Lord Baelish who acted formal despite the hostility shown.

Geralt leaned in to speak quietly with Ned. "We can't trust him. Let me talk to Ser Barristan…"

"The Lord Commander would be helpful, but you forget that the rest of the King's Guard may not follow his lead. Jaime will put his family before all else, especially in his sister's defense." Eddard glanced again at Baelish, open distrust showing towards the Master of Coin. "If anything, I distrust Baelish more than you. If we refuse his aid, he can easily side with the Lannisters just to cover his own back." He'd pause tensely, seeming hesitant still.

"You don't have to accept this. I wouldn't."

"Aye…yet I'm sadly not you." Ned gave a small warily smile. "This is my choice and whatever the outcome…I'll face it." He'd move away from Geralt's side and approach Baelish, one hand out to be shaken. "Fine Lord Baelish, I accept your aid."

"Wise of you Lord Stark." Yet when they grasped hands, Ned yanked Littlefinger closer to speak harshly to him.

"But if you betray us…you best do it well. Remember that."

Baelish paled slightly at the threat, haven't only seen Ned this fierce during the moment he had been pinned to the wall outside his own brothel. Glancing at Geralt, he saw the same sharp look in the Witcher's eyes, adding more to Eddard's warning. "Of course…Ned." He muttered back, using nickname snidely. Once his hand was let go, he'd flex his grip before continuing to speak. "I will speak with the Watch captains and Commander Janos Slynt. We'll be prepared within the day if need be."

"Good. Let us just hope we won't have to rely on their aid. You're dismissed Lord Baelish."

Littlefinger gave a low nod before moving to leave the room, seeming composed despite the threats just given to him.

Once the door closed shut, Ned sighed before looking to Geralt. "Hopefully that will keep him in line."

"Hopefully." Geralt muttered back. "So, what about other precautions? We should have your daughters sent away to someplace safe such as back towards the North or the Vale if need be."

"I agree. It will be difficult explaining it to them and Sansa will no doubt argue." Eddard paced closer to the door. "If all goes well, they should leave by tomorrow and be beyond anyone's grasp."

"Good…then all we do is wait then."

"Yes. Just try to relax Geralt, we'll pull through this."

The Witcher only nodded back in response before Eddard left the room, leaving Geralt by himself. For a moment he'd listen to the bells ringing throughout the city, deep in thought over what to do. Inaction always left him edgy, even more when the obvious threat just lurked close by. At that point he remembered what was going on in the far north at the Wall, the possible horrors Jon and the Night's Watch faced.

"Haven't written to him since I left." He muttered, glancing to the nearby table with parchment and quill set aside. Moving over to it, he quicken began to write.

 _ **To Jon Snow of the Night's Watch, son of Lord Eddard Stark**_

 _ **I know I've been silent these last few months, yet events at the capital have been tense. King Robert Baratheon is dead, murdered by conspirators vying for control. Your father's actions may very well brand him as a traitor to many, but his loyalty is to the late King and to the Kingdoms.**_

 _ **No matter what you hear, know that he has made difficult choices and has only done what he thought was best for all. If all goes well I plan to head North and return to the Wall. I've had my fill of Southern politics. For now, be vigilant and safe.**_

 _ **From, Geralt.**_

Not a moment after he finished writing, he'd hear the flutter of wings and a cawing sound from the balcony. Glancing over, he'd see Naser hobble into the room before fluttering up onto the back of a nearby chair. "Hello hello." It chattered.

"Odd…how did you…never mind." There was something odd about that bird, though considering his experiences this wasn't the most outlandish case. "I n eed you to take this to Castle Black and to Jon Snow. Understand?"

"Of course." Naser bobbed his head, seeming confident as Geralt rolled the letter scroll up before sliding it into a small tube to attach to the raven's leg. Once tied on, Naser hopped off the chair and flew out of the room, flying out over King's Landing and into the northern horizon.

Geralt sighed as he'd lean back in his seat, staring out at the city until he lost sight of Naser. "Waiting." Looking to the desk, he'd pick up the last book his was reading, trying to distract his mind for the rest of the day.

…

"Geralt…Geralt…GERALT!"

There was a sudden banging on the door, making the Witcher snap his eyes open before springing to action. He tumbled out of bed, rolling with his movement to land on his feet while grabbing his steel sword set just in reach. However, as the door suddenly unlocked he'd relax as he saw it was Thoros and some unknown man dressed in fine leather, chainmail and a deep green cloak fitting of a lord. Both seemed a bit taken back by Geralt's battle ready pose, yet quickly calmed down despite the fearsome surprise.

"What's going on?" Geralt questioned as he lowered his sword to his side.

"A meeting has been called for in the throne room by Queen 'Regent' Cersei and 'King' Joffrey…at least that's what the messenger has claimed." Thoros quickly explained.

The other man stepped into the room, giving a small bow to Geralt. "I feel it would be best to introduce myself. Lord Beric, titles can wait. Right now, the men are being organized and Lord Stark expects you at his side with confronting the queen."

The news was sudden, yet the Witcher understood the situation. "Give me a few minutes. Beric, go meet with your men. Thoros, wait outside until I'm ready."

The Red Priest grinned, pleased with the direct commands given. "Heh of course Witcher. Let us see how fate plays out today!"

Both men left, giving Geralt time to change into fresh clothes and into his armor. Strapping his swords onto his back, Dragonfang at the hip and a selection of basic potions and bombs. The bombs were mainly a selection nonlethal ones to avoid any unneeded deaths. Making sure the chest was tightly locked and the key in hand, he'd leave the room and rejoin Thoros.

Both hurried through the Red Keep, heading down to the lower floor and to the main yard just outside the main hall. The gathered men were a mix of Ned's Northern guards and Beric's troops, a sizable force combined. Eddard was busy speaking with Beric, dressed in a quilted vest and leathers along with having a longsword at his side. Seeing the Witcher and the Red Priest, he'd finish speaking with the other Lord before turning his attention to them.

"Seems it has come to this. Cersei has played her hand and now expects us to do the same." He muttered. "She has most of the court already gather, though Lord Tywin is absent."

"Odd…has he left the capital?" Geralt questioned.

"It seems Tywin has been tracing back on our your own investigation throughout the city personally. Maybe he thinks we had a hand in Robert's death or is trying to figure out what we've discovered."

"Explains the timing of this gathering. Cersei's father could easily complicate matters if he was present." Geralt remarked on.

"Indeed. I feel Tywin would be against Joffrey being crowned so quickly after Robert's death, considering the fact the boy lacks the skills and mentality to lead. That is not including the truth about his parentage." Ned shook his head. "For now, we work with the authority vested in me as the Hand. If Cersei resists, then we will have to use force."

"Then let's hope she's not that mad with ambition." The Witcher thought for a moment, quickly realizing something. "Is Arya and Sansa safe?"

Ned nodded. "Syrio is with Arya while Sansa has Jory and two of our guard watching her at my tower. They should be safe for what is to come."

Geralt relaxed, though he wished the two girls were halfway across Westeros instead of here. "Then let's do this. Be ready for anything…"

Eddard nodded slightly in agreement before gesturing to ten of the gathered men. "The rest of our men will wait outside in case of trouble. The Gold Cloaks are already within the hall along with Lord Baelish, so hopefully their numbers will be enough if a fight breaks out."

Mutterings of understanding followed before Eddard took the lead marching into the main hall with Geralt following alongside, while Beric and Thoros following close behind. There were a few lesser nobles who were milling about in the hall, giving surprised looks seeing the well-armed trope approaching the throne room. The men of the Watch hardly reacted to their arrival, showing an unflinching professionalism the entire time. Within the throne room itself, nearly everyone Geralt knew who lived within the Red Keep was gathered within the grand chamber. More of the Watch lined the sides of the hall, spears in hand and arming swords at the hip.

Littlefinger stood by the entry way, seeming to have been waiting for their arrival. He'd step up to whisper something to Lord Stark, Eddard not saying anything back. Baelish though had that confident smirk hinting his lips, though why Geralt wasn't certain.

The Witcher was quick to notice other key members of the Court such as Varys who stood among the crowd, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes and looking as calm as ever. His observant gaze did focus on the group, a serious hint showed in his bright eyes as he no doubt knew what was about to happen. Pycelle stood close by the spymaster, a black notebook and pen in hand as he was quickly writing something down, no doubt a recording of what he was witnessing.

Barristan, Jaime along with five of the other King's Guard stood lined up before the looming Iron Throne. All of them were fully dressed in their golden armor along with fine metal shields which they had strapped to their backs. Geralt couldn't deny they were quite imposing at this moment; all the men's faces having focused looks under their helmets.

Behind them beside the Iron Throne was Sandor, fully dressed and looking the cleanest Geralt had ever seen. While the King's Guard were regal, he looked fierce with his hound shaped helm closed over his head. Despite his face being covered, the Witcher could sense the man's gaze set on him directly.

On the other side of the throne sat Cersei herself, dressed in her finest clothes for this occasion. It was the most queenly she had ever looked with her crown set onto of her stylized hair, giving her a regal if snobby look, at least from the Witcher's point of view. A small frown hinted her face seeing the armed force Eddard had brought, but she seemed calm none of the less.

Next to her stood Lancel, dressed in a new set of squire clothes with the more fitting colors of the Lannister house. When he saw Geralt he was wide eyed and face paled, making the Witcher wonder if his Axii Sign had been faulty somehow. The young man leaned in to whisper something to Cersei, yet the woman's expression remained unchanged even after he finished speaking.

Lastly there was her son who sat on the high seat of the bladed throne, lodging back to be comfortable on the rough metal seat. He too was changed into the finest set of clothes Geralt had seen the prince in, regal leather designed in a scaled pattern along with brown fine cloth under it. His face had a serious look to it, almost commanding as he'd stare at Eddard directly. Despite the armed men followed the Stark, he seemed unconcerned of them.

Soon Eddard's group stopped in the middle of the room, keeping a fair distance from the line of King's Guard between them and Joffrey. Ned looked up at the prince, having a determined look in his eyes as he seemed to wait for the boy to speak first.

"I command the Council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I will accept oaths of fealty from my loyal Councilors." The boy's gaze drifted across the hall, passing over each of the members of the Small Council before settling back on Ned. "My father's murder is a great tragedy, but we mustn't let fear and hesitation deny Seven Kingdoms its rightful ruler."

For a long moment, no one spoke within the hall, the silence almost deafening if it weren't for the muffled din of bells ringing in the city. Geralt wondered how much of the boy's speech was of his own making or prepared by his dear mother's advice. In the end though, Eddard at last spoke.

"Bold words your grace…however being too hasty is unwise." He calmly answered back before shifting one hand to his belt, drawing the sealed scroll of Robert's last decree. "You may claim the right to rule, yet that is not for you to decide."

Both Joffrey and Cersei gave confused looks, anger hinting the boy's eyes. "What do you mean Lord Stark?" He questioned sharply.

Ned looked forward at Barristan, the old knight staring back. "Ser Barristan. I believe no man here could question your honor." He'd hold out the scroll to the man, who'd slowly step forward and take it.

He'd examine the parchment closely, focusing on the wax seal. "King Robert's seal. Unbroken." Slowly, he'd pace closer to the Iron Throne before opening the scroll and began to read it out loud before reaching the decree's conclusion. "Lord Eddard Stark is to be hereby named Protector of the Realm. To rule as Regent, until the rightful heir is decided."

A low murmuring filled the hall when it came to the last part of the decree or in this case final will. Now Geralt understood what Eddard had done, the act questionable yet understood. The lack of Joffrey being directly named as heir drew a shocked look across the boy's face who glanced to his mother, almost pleadingly for some help from her.

Cersei barely kept her own dismayed look hidden from even Geralt's sharp eyes, quickly turning it into a passive expression. "Let me see that letter Ser Barristan." She'd politely ask before standing up, waking closer for the knight to hand the paper over. Taking it, she'd glance over the written words with a quite dismissive look before a small coy smile crossed her fair lips. "Is this meant to be your shield Lord Stark?" Turning the paper in her hands, she'd casually rip it in half, the sound echoing through the hall. "A piece of paper." Again, the parchment was torn, echoing out again before she tossed the pieces aside.

Beric and even Barristan gawked at what they just witnessed while Thoros held back a growling curse. "She-devil…to disrespect her own husband's last wishes!"

"Those were the King's words." Barristand remarked in shock towards Cersei, who coyly smiled back.

"We have a new King now." She simply stated back with a coy smile.

"You disregard your husband's last wishes?" Geralt suddenly spoke up, drawing Cersei's attention to him. "I witnessed him give those last orders, thought I guess you wouldn't care if the entire world was witness to that moment

"No…I question them." She sharply countered back. "Ever since you and Lord Stark had joined the court, trouble has followed. Suspicious isn't it? Lord Stark has much to gain in being given the title of Regent and while you…his lapdog can earn whatever prize promised."

The Witcher clenched one fist tightly as he was ready to snap back before Ned moved an arm in front of Geralt to silence him. "Is slander and lies your only defense your grace?"

"How amusing. You and your pet 'wolf' have spent months snooping throughout the city…seen in quite questionable places even. Do not think I am naïve or blind Lord Stark."

The gathered crowd muttered, seemed divided on what was going on at this very moment. Geralt knew that was Cersei's goal, twist their actions into something shady and hostile towards the royal family. Already he could see Thoros tensing, the priest's battle instinct seeming on edge. However, he'd put a firm hand on the man's shoulder to calm him down before glancing at Eddard who remained ever calm.

"Aye…you are right." The answer drew surprised reactions from everyone really, showing even Cersei didn't expect Ned to admit to her 'accusations'. "Geralt has been my eyes and ears within King's Landing, investigating the late Lord Jon Arryn's last actions before he was assassinated." The new revelation drew gasps from the nobles, showing few knew the full story of the respected former Hand's passing. "Lord Arryn was seeking King Robert's illegitimate children within the capital, comparing them to with royal children."

Cersei paled slightly, shifting slightly where she stood as Ned openly spoke of this. Her eyes though were like daggers, trying hopelessly to silence Eddard as he continued to speak.

"The ancestry of the Baratheon's is long and well recorded. Always the children of that House bared black hair…a trait every one of his bastard children has. A trait which your sons and daughters lack Queen Cersei."

Geralt couldn't help but smirk from Eddard's dramatic reveal as the hall burst into a flurry of chatter. The gathered courtiers and nobility was arguing, debating fiercely until drowned to the tolling of the bells. Suddenly, Joffrey stood up from the Iron Throne, yelling out over the many voices in a state of pure anger.

"SILENCE!"

All voices obeyed that command, calm returning to the room, nearly everyone glancing at the false prince. The boy's right hand was red, dripping blood from being cut across the bladed arm rest of the throne in his moment of frustration.

"You lie…You lie Eddard Stark…" He growled loudly. "I am the son of Robert Baratheon! I have the right to claim this trone and I will not let your filthy slander disgrace him any further!"

If anything, Geralt felt pity at that moment for the screaming boy. He completely adored his 'father', valuing his name over even the Lannister's from the way he spoke. Yet it also showed just how troubled he was, unstable and broken with the lie he had been raised to believe.

"I do this for his honor. You are faultless in this matter Joffrey…yet your mother must pay for her selfish actions and heinous crimes." Ned stated back, calm unwavering as he stared back at Cersei. "Because I know you planned Robert's murder, along with the attack on his hunt." At that point Eddard gripped one fist tightly, holding back anger. "He was you husband for gods sake…and you murdered him for petty power!"

The room remained silent as Eddard listed the final crime Cersei had committed. Joffrey's look of anger faded, seeming unsure of what to react. He was muttering something to himself before glancing down at his mother, who in turn looked up to him.

"That is enough." She coldly muttered. "No more Eddard. We will not accept these false claims, these imagined crimes. You will not steal the right my family has or deny the people it's proper king!" Again, she looked to Joffrey, nodding slightly to him.

At that point the boy seemed to snap to attention, glancing back at Eddard and his gathered men. "King's Guard, Hound and Watch!" He snapped out. "Arrest Lord Stark and his supporters for treason! Kill any who dare resist!"

At that moment the room was filled with the drawing of steel. Geralt, Jaime and Barristan the first to have their blades out, while the rest followed suit except for Eddard who didn't even reach for his blade.

"Commander!' Ned looked off to the side at one of the Watch captains, a man with a short white beard. "Take the queen and her son into custody! Escort them to their royal apartments and keep them there under guard!"

"Men of the Watch." The Commander spoke loud yet calmly, the guardsmen giving a short yah as they'd lower their spears towards the Lannister's forces, who shifted back nervously being vastly outnumbered. Yet despite this…Geralt sensed something was wrong. It was the look on Cersei's face, she was faintly smiling.

"I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their weapons and no one needs to die."

There was a short pause, which to Geralt felt like a full minute as he saw Cersei's gaze glance to the Watch Commander, their gazes meeting before she gave a short nod. Adrenaline kicked in as the Witcher realized the spears weren't pointed at their enemies…but at their very backs.

"EVERYONE MOVE!" He yelled out before the Commander gave out an order, the guardsmen suddenly lunging in to attack.

Four of the Stark men were impaled through the back with spears, howling out as they grasped at the metal tips piercing through their chests. Two others got stabbed into the side, forcing them onto their knees before they were stabbed again, spewing up blood as it filled up their throats and lungs. The other four barely reacted in time, drawn blades swatting the jabbing spears aside, just sparing their lives for a few more moments.

Yet for Geralt, Beric and Thoros, they had six guards focus on them. They no doubt knew just how dangerous the trio were, trying to kill them in a coordinated surprise attack. The Witcher though was faster, steel blade slashing widely to cut three of the spears shafts apart, leaving them useless without their metal tips.

Thoros yelled out fiercely as he'd just dodge the jab, left hand grabbing the spear shaft and yank guardsman forward. The unlucky man got a sword driven into his gut before being kicked off the blade in a bloody fashion.

Beric parried one of the spears stabbing at him, though the other just reached him. He twisted his body as it stabbed at his shoulder, drawing a pained cry as the spear tip just pierced through his chainmail to draw blood. It was a minor wound, which did little to weaken his guard as he'd strike the pommel of his sword into the man's face, breaking the nose and forcing him back.

"Protect Lord Stark!" Geralt yelled out as he glanced about, seeing the four remaining Stark guards get picked off one by one before they could regroup with the others. However, what really caught the Witcher's off guard the was sight of Littlefinger grappling Ned from behind, a familiar curved dagger pressed at the Northern lord's throat. It was the missing twin of the Valyrian dagger that Geralt had strapped to the side of his hip. "You bastard…"

Baelish had a sly grin across his face, making sure that sharp blade pressed closely to Eddard's neck to force him back towards the line of Guardsmen. "Don't be angry Witcher. The game was set against you since the beginning." He answered back. Ned tried to struggle free, his movements making the blade lightly draw blood. "Now Ned, you wouldn't like to slit your own throat…" The backstabbing noble chuckled.

At this point the Watch along with the King's Guard and Hound slowly closed in towards Geralt, Beric and Thoros. The trio soon were back to back, protecting each other's blindside. Barristan neared the Witcher, his calm eyes looking directly into the Witcher's feline like gaze. The Lord Commander said nothing, yet in truth that sharp gaze spoke much.

"Heh well done Lord Baelish! Your loyalty is true as expected." Joffrey chuckled out as Littlefinger soon had Eddard grabbed by three Guardsmen, who quickly disarmed and shackled him.

Baelish simply bowed back, almost as if to mock Ned and Geralt. "It was the right thing to do your grace. I couldn't simply let such treason be ignored."

"Damn you to the Seven Hells Baelish!" Ned snapped out before getting punched across the face by one of the guards, silencing him before he could curse out any further.

Cersei smirked in sadistic glee seeing Eddard beaten before her, yet she didn't let it distract her for too long as her gaze focused on surviving members. "So 'White Wolf'…where is your fighting spirit?" Her tone mocking, making the Witcher growl in anger. "Thoros. It is a shame you were deluded joining their side. Then again you are a lowly drunkard, a man of weak faith."

"Piss off you bitch!" He snapped back, giving a quite evil grin at her.

"Hound cut out his tongue once he is captured. He just said his last words." Joffrey ordered out, the armored man only nodding slightly at the command. "The three of you deserve to suffer for your transgressions. My father trusted all of you and now you betray it after his death. Especially you Witcher. I looked up to you…adored you even after seeing what you could do." The boy paused, eyes gleaming with a sudden idea. "That is why I give you a choice. Bend the knee and admit that I am the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Do what Lord Stark refused. In turn…I may show mercy. Exile for you while the rest are sent to the Wall for the rest of their days."

Geralt gripped his steel blade tightly in both hands, staring up at the boy with a cold look. He'd glance to Beric and Thoros beside him, both men tense yet knowing very well the odds were very much against them.

"Do what he says Geralt." Jaime suddenly spoke up, making the Witcher look forward to see the blond-haired knight standing beside Barristan. He would have expected a smug look across the man's face yet instead it was one of pleading. "Don't throw your life away like this. It's not worth it."

Again, Geralt remained silent as his mind was rapidly thinking over possible escapes. Even with his skills, he couldn't outmatch so many at once, not with the mass of spearmen surrounding him. It all came down to one person.

"Ser Barristan." He calmly muttered, though the aged knight hardly moved when spoken to. "Remember what I said after the hunt, about the choice between duty and doing what is right?"

"What are you blathering about Witcher?' Cersei questioned, yet Geralt continue to speak.

"Yes." The knight answered back in a calm voice.

"Time to decide on which you value more." With that, the Witcher dropped his sword at his feet, the steel blade's clanging echoing through the throne room.

"Geralt! What in the hell are you thinking?!" Thoros whispered in shock.

"Stalling." He muttered back.

"For what?' Beric questioned.

"For the right moment. When it comes, grab the bombs on my belt. Pull the pins and throw them. Cover your faces as soon as you do else you'll be stunned."

"Are you just going to stand there Geralt?' Joffrey spoke up, interrupting their whispering. "You are doing well so far. All you need to do is kneel and admit my right to rule."

For a moment Geralt gazed about the hall, noticing how Varys had disappeared during the conflict. It was a small detail, yet one he felt was important. Slowly he'd start to shift down onto one knee while he glanced over to Eddard, the man's face having such a shamed look seeing his friend submitting in such a way. However, the Witcher gave a small smile at Ned, making a confused look cross the man's face.

He'd stop halfway to kneeling as he'd look back up at Joffrey, an odd look showing across the boy's face. "You know what…fuck you. I'd rather be dead then grovel to a pasty spoiled brat like you." Standing up straight, he'd see the prince trembling in brewing anger while Cersei stared in complete shock. The woman tried to speak up, wanting to warn her son yet the prince reacted first.

"KING'S GUARD! HOUND! WATCH! KILL HIM! KILL THEM ALL!"

Jaime and his fellow brothers in arms were too shocked to react to the command while the Hound seemed to be…laughing out loud at what he had just witnessed. Barristan though didn't hesitate, the old knight rushing in with shocking speed, swinging his sword down at the Witcher. Geralt reacted just as fast as he'd swipe his wolf sigil bracer out, timing it perfectly to deflect the attack. Both men were up close, nearly face to face for a split second.

"Run."

The one word shared was all Geralt needed, before he'd kick the man right in the chest. His peak human strength and steel toed boot dented that golden chest plate, making Barristan be flung back with a pained yell. His arms were out wide as if bracing for a fall, while in fact he 'accidently' tackled down Jaime along with another King's Guard within his reach. Jaime cursed out, caught off guard by the sudden fall which knocked his blade free from his grip.

Geralt however did not pause for a moment, thrusting both hands forward and flexing his fingers into a duel Aard. Putting his full focus into the Sign, the burst of telekinetic force flew out wide across the end of the throne room. It was strong enough to fling everyone onto their backs, including the Hound and King's Guards who hadn't be knocked down beside their Lord Commander. Cersei screamed out in terror as she was flung roughly aside, while Joffrey cried out having his back slammed into the rough back of the Iron Throne. For those who hadn't been hit by the Sign, they'd gawk in complete disbelief, unsure of what they just witnessed. As for Geralt, he felt an intense dizziness hit him like before, only far more intense as he felt like he was going to faint. Despite the feeling though he'd stand strong, swiping his blade off the ground and getting into a battle-ready stance.

At that same moment though, Beric and Thoros reacted as well. Each man grabbing a bomb at the Witcher's belt before throwing the alchemical devices into the crowd of shocked Watch before they'd turn their heads away and used their free arm to cover their faces. Loud bangs filled the room as the Samum bomb exploded in blinding flashes of light and smoke, drawing shocked cries among the crowd of soldiers and courtiers.

"MOVE!" Geralt ordered out, as the trio turned as one for the doorway out. There were only six guards in their way, only partly blinded by the bombs. They were quick to recover from being stunned, but that was all the time the group needed to fight through. Both Geralt and Thoros gave a powerful shoulder charge to tackle the men aside, putting their strength to full use while the Watch's stance was weak. The group barreled out of the throne room and into the grand entrance hall. They could hear fighting echoing from outside in the main yard, the rest of the men loyal to Eddard clashing against a large ambush of Lannister soldiers.

"Go help the men! Fight your way out of the keep and get out into the city!" Geralt quickly ordered Beric while Thoros slammed the heavy doors of the throne room shut, buying them a few more precious seconds.

"What about you?" Beric quickly questioned

"I need to get Ned's daughters. You two focus on staying alive! I'll find you somehow!" Before they could argue, he was already rushing down one hall leading deeper into the keep. Despite how fast he moved, he felt a gnawing exhaustion creeping over him ever since he did that duel Sign. "Have to keep going. Just a bit longer."

…

"Foreign bastard!"

The Lannister soldier swung out at the short duelist who casually batted attack aside with his study practice sword. Soon there be a ringing bang as wooden sword bashed into the man's armored head, knocking his armored form to the ground.

"And you will be speaking to me with more respect." Syrio had his other hand shift from behind his back, drawing his rapier from its sheath. He'd agilely spin both weapons in his hands, pacing slowly about as Ser Trant and the four other Lannister soldiers shifted to try surrounding both him and Arya.

"Kill the Braavosi and bring me the girl." The King's Guard ordered to the other men, their swords at the ready.

"Seems our lesson is over child. Stay away while I deal with our guests. I swore to your father to watch you after all." The man showed no fear as he spoke while his gaze shifted between the soldiers, trying to judge who'd make the first move.

Arya stood back, Needle in hand yet open worry hinting her face. While she trusted in her teacher's skill, she couldn't deny that the odds were against him still. "I can-" She started before suddenly one of the soldiers lunged for her, trying to slip by the duelist and take her hostage.

Syrio though was faster, body twisting about as he'd slide his thin blade through a gap in the soldier's ornate armor, drawing a pained cry weapon sunk in deep. The wooden sword followed up striking across his head to knock him aside, before the duelist turned about to parry an incoming blow. The two soldiers who rushed him soon were pushed onto the defensive as Syrio began a deadly dance with his weapons. He'd use the wooden sword to break the soldiers guard before following up with quick stabs or short cuts with his rapier

The two other men tried to aid their allies, yet Syrio dodged and turned about. He'd trip and push the men into each other, misdirecting any attack towards him onto another. More pained cries filled the air as one by one the soldiers were picked off, all badly wounded between Syrio direct attacks or from accidently harming each other. Arya flinched seeing blood pool under the fallen men, all of them too wounded to keep fighting.

"Useless oafs." Trant growled as he'd draw his long sword and raise up a shield, slowly closing in towards the duelist.

Syrio sidestepped about the knight, trying to outmaneuver the more heavily armored man. As before he'd use the wooden sword defensively, yet it began to crack and splitter as Trant struck back with powerful sword blows and bashes with his shield. The duelist's rapier did get past the shield, but even the exposed points were two well armored to pierce.

"Need a bigger sword, fool." Trant laughed out while Syrio remained silent, a cold fierce glare in his eyes. Suddenly there'd be the sound of metal being rended, followed by the man giving a pained cry as he was slashed across his back. Falling to his knees, the King's Guard was barely able to support himself as he glanced back to see Geralt loomed over him, blooded steel sword in hand. "You…freak…" He gasped before Syrio struck across the man's jaw with the wooden sword with a resounded crack. The sword broke from the force, Trant's jaw and right cheek no doubt suffering the same fate before slamming his head to the stone floor."

"The aid wasn't needed Witcher…though welcomed." Syrio sighed, though he gave a small thankful grin as he'd toss the broken training sword aside.

Geralt looked over the room with the wounded soldiers spread about, groaning out in pain from their wounds. "Seems like you handled yourself well enough." His attention focused on Arya who looked right back at him, her worried expression quickly becoming a joyful one.

"Geralt!" She hurried over to him to, almost giving him a hug before realizing this wasn't the right time. "What is going on? Father was acting odd this morning and…did something bad happen?"

"Its difficult to explain." The Witcher muttered before echoing yells could be heard from hallway, making both him and Syrio glance to the doorway. Placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, he gave a serious look to her. "I'll tell you what happened once we're safe. I promised your father that I'd keep you and your sister safe, no matter the odds."

The girl was silent, obviously worried over what was going on. "I…I understand. Yet where are we going to go?"

Already Geralt was wondering the same thing. No doubt all the ways leading directly out of the Keep were being watched by now. While he was certain he and Syrio could fight their way though, he didn't want to put Arya and Sansa at risk by putting them near another fight. "We'll find a way." He assured Arya after a moment. "Right now, we need to find your sister before we leave."

"I'm not certain. I saw her with Jory earlier this morning heading off to the gardens."

"Then we best search there." Syrio remarked. "At the least within the gardens we'll have more cover to elude the guards."

Nodding in agreement, Geralt moved to the doorway out to check outside the hall. "Then let's go. Syrio, watch our back. Arya, you stay close behind me. If trouble comes, I expect you to keep away or run if need be."

"I'm not helpless you know!" The girl argued. "I know your trying to protect me…but what was the point training me if-"

"Because if you hesitate for an instant, you may very well get hurt." Geralt sternly warned. "I know you want to help, but right now there are too many risks. If needed you can defend yourself, but right now we must focus on escaping. Is that clear?"

The commanding tone had Arya quiet down before nodding in understanding.

"Good. Now let's move."

The group quickly filed out of the room, sneaking a winding route towards the gardens. Sometimes they'd stop as a group of guards hurried by, just avoiding them as they'd hang back to hide behind some cover.

"Our way is becoming more difficult Geralt…" Syrio warned.

"I've noticed." Geralt muttered back as he'd glance around the next corner. He'd notice one of the rooms along the hall open and a familiar robed figure standing at the doorway. Despite the chaos going on through the Keep, the spymaster looked ever calm, even amused from the way he stood there. The chubby man gave a small nod to the Witcher to follow along before disappearing into the room.

So…what is the Spider planning?" The duelist muttered, having just noticed the man as well.

"Either helping us or luring us into a trap. I hopefully helping." Checking about once more, he'd gesture for the group to hurry towards the room. Syrio was quick to close and lock the door behind them while Geralt focused on Varys who was pacing along the western wall of the room, a simple bed chamber by the looks of it. "So, Master of Whispers, did things play out as you expected?" He calmly questioned, sword at the ready for any surprises.

At first Varys didn't react as he'd touch his hand along the stone wall, almost as if he was looking for something. "I had many predictions on the outcome. Mainly it came down to the role Baelish would play…a costly mistake on Lord Stark's part. I'm certain you were very much against his involvement, so the blame isn't on you." He'd suddenly answer back. "I will admit your escape from the throne room was unexpected. Even with knowing about your formable skills, I was doubtful you'd leave that chamber alive, much less with your companions in tow."

"I had a few surprises left." Geralt simply remarked back.

"Yes…" Varys tone became quite cold for a moment, eyes narrowing in a very judging manner. His hand pressed to another stone which clicked, sinking slightly into the wall. "Ah there it was." The chubby man pushed up against the wall which slowly swung open like a door, revealing a dark passage behind it. "While I have many thing to say about you Geralt, now is not the best time." He'd fold his hands into the sleeves of his robes, again taking that calm stance. "The Red Keep has many secret passageways such as this. Follow this way until you reach an intersection, then take the right passage until you reach some stairs. Continue down and you should be led to the cliffs by Black Harbor, where a mutual friend of ours will be awaiting to help you. I'm certain from there you will be able to handle yourself."

For a while Geralt didn't answer as he glanced to Syrio and Arya. The duelist had a cautious look about him while Arya seemed nervous about the spymaster, considering the fact she knew nothing of the man. "Syrio, take Arya ahead. I'll follow along in a moment."

"If you think that is for the best." Syrio answered back before gesturing for Arya to follow along.

For a moment the girl hesitated before she'd follow closely after her teacher, giving a worried look to Geralt before she disappeared down the dark passage.

"Why help now?" Geralt asked once his companions were gone, letting him speak privately with Varys.

"Because as I said before, I'm best suited to help in my subtle ways. If I was standing alongside you when you shared your accusations, I'd either be dead on the end of a spear or in chains like Lord Stark. Better that I work unsuspected among our enemies…" He'd pause as he'd pace away slowly. "For one, I can say Sansa is beyond your reach for now."

"Why is that?"

The spymaster rolled his eyes a bit. "She's been captured already and under heavy guard. Cersei had planned ahead to blackmail Lord Stark if things didn't play out in her favor."

"Damn it…" Geralt gripped his sword tightly, hating how the situation was only getting worse. "Why should I take your word as fact? You could be very much lying to me, trying to dissuade me."

"Because I have no reason to lie. If anything, your attention should be getting the other girl as far away from here as possible." Varys calmly countered back. "Debating won't help the matter. Focus on escaping and leave the rest to me. A time will come when your talents will be needed."

Remaining silent, the Witcher glanced to the passage way, unable to deny that time was key right now. After what Lord Baelish had pulled off, he was hesitant to believe people like Varys. If anything, he could sense a more hostile feeling coming off the man, the similar vibe he'd received countless times from those discriminated against anything magical. "Then pray you don't make the same choice as Littlefinger." He warned as he'd move for the dark passage. "If you do see him though…give him a message."

Varys turned to glance at the Witcher, the man's cat like eyes glowing fainting in the low light of the hidden passageway.

"Tell him if I ever see him again. I'll kill him." It was a cold and blunt message, chilling enough that even Vary seemed to shiver for a moment.

The spymaster simply bowed slightly in response, composing himself after that message was given. "Be safe Witcher. Oh, and don't worry about contacting me. I'll find you instead." With that said, he'd grasp the hidden doorway and pull it closed, leaving Geralt in darkness.

…

It was a long trek through the passageways, yet Varys direction proved true in the end. Geralt, Syrio and Arya squeezed through a tight exit out of a natural opening onto a cliffside trail, set below the looming Red Keep. Alarm bells were still ringing out, showing the search was still ongoing. Arya moved to lightly grip Geralt's left arm, making him glance down to see the girl's worried face. He'd give a soft smile to ease her distress, though he'd glance up suddenly when he heard someone speak up.

"Witcher! Over here!" Farther down the trail was Davos, the grizzled sailor standing by row boat with a crewman sitting within it. "Seems the Spider was right to warn me." The man muttered as the group neared him, Syrio and Geralt sheathing their weapons for the moment. "I was worried things go south within the court. Is Lord Stark…" However, he'd stop himself when he noticed Arya among them, no doubt feeling it unfitting to mention her father currently.

"I'll tell you what happened later. I take you have someplace safe for us to hideout?"

"Aye, an old warehouse at the harbor. It will be secure enough for us to plan our next more from there." Gesturing to the rowboat, the crewmen would pull lift-up some heavy cloth covers. "Everyone best hide themselves. The harbor is being watched, so we need slip by unnoticed."

Arya glanced at Geralt, seeming unsure to follow along with Davos directions. "You can trust Davos. He's one of the most honest men I've met." The Witcher assured her.

"I believe you…just…I've never been on a boat before." Arya answered back, seeming embarrassed on the matter.

"Don't you worry Lady Stark. This here is the sturdiest rowboat you'll ever ride in all of the known seas." Davos remarked, putting his friendly nature to use to ease any worry she felt.

The young Stark couldn't help but smile back, the first time since this crisis began. "Fine then captain." She chuckled before she'd carefully step onto the small boat while Syrio followed along, pausing to speak to Davos.

"I can say I've heard of your name before back in Braavos. The elusive Davos, the master smuggler of the Narrow Sea."

"Heh, never knew I had such a name considering. Still that was a long time ago." The captain muttered.

Geralt was the last before the trader kicked the boat away from the rocky shore, agilely jumping in despite the distance. Sitting down, he and his crewmen grabbed the oars to start rowing. The others would focus on staying low in the boat while they tugged gray cloth over themselves. Arya did yelp whenever a strong wave rocked the ship, Geralt reached one hand out for her to hold and calm herself. While they couldn't see anything, they soon were surrounding by the bustling noises of the harbor. Nearby ships creaked in the water, sails flapping in the wind and chatter of people on the docks. It was a slow ride, though it seemed the guards hadn't gotten patrols to watch the waters as the party rowed by without issue.

Drifting down one of the side channels that lead to the storehouses, Davos soon spoke up. "We're clear now. You can come out." The cloth was pulled off to reveal they were docked at an old yet well kept warehouse. More of Davos crew were either busy moving boxes of supplies about or keeping watch. The trade got out first, offering a hand to help Arya out while the rest carefully climb out onto the dock.

"Quite the place." Geralt remarked as they'd soon be guided to the main doors into the building.

"Ever since the Rebellion I've been able to expand my trading business. I have warehouses like this across the major ports of Westeros and Essos. Allows me to build up a supply until a demand is needed." Davos explained. The inside of the building was quite large, having a maze like lay out with crates, barrels and chests set orderly about. The captain guided them through the maze to a separate area, a bunk and plain sitting space for the workers. "This is the best we can offer for now. Basic comforts yet secluded."

"I've stayed in far worse. Overall it will do." Geralt commented while he watched Arya pace around the room, seeming distracted with her thoughts.

"I know you're concerned for the girl…but we need to talk privately." Davos whispered back.

Nodding, the Witcher moved over to Arya, getting her attention once she neared. "Need to talk?"

Her gaze drifted away from him before she'd move to sit in an empty chair. Her hands fiddled with Needle in it's sheath, showing her anxious nature. "Just…I'm worried about father and Sansa."

"So am I. However, we can't let such thoughts distract us. Remember our lessons, focusing on be calm and clear minded no matter the situation."

"Just…just…" She'd grip both hands tightly over her sword. "I just wish I could do something. I know you and others are going to try to save my family. Yet…I can't do anything."

"Being powerless is always a terrible feeling. I've faced it many times before and I'm certain I'll face it time again." Like before he'd place a hand on her shoulder. "You were brave at the Keep. I need you to be brave still in the coming days. Anything can happen, so I need you alert for any trouble."

It took the girl a moment to compose herself, glancing up into the Witcher's cat like eyes. "I will. Just…promise me you'll get father and Sansa back."

"Promise." Shifting back, he'd look to Syrio and Davos who had moved to the doorway of another room. Giving a final nod to Arya, he'd move to join them in a small meeting room.

"You handled that well. The girl is troubled, through most her age would be a sobbing mess." The duelist remarked as they all sat down around a table.

"Can't imagine what's going through her mind, fearing for her family." Davos muttered in agreement. "Right now, the odds are against us. The city is on high alert and the Watch will surely set bounties for everyone who escaped."

"Any news about Lord Beric or Thoros?" Geralt questioned.

"Only they we're last seen outside the gates of the Red Keep with a score of fifty men. They forced out of the yard before reinforcements broke their ranks. They are no doubt spread out across all of King's Landing."

"Then that's our first course of action, regrouping. Gathering up Thoros, Beric and the other Stark loyalists will at least improve our defenses."

"Aye. I send my men out to search about, use some of my contacts as well. May take a few days though to avoid drawing attention."

"Have to rely on the fact Cersei thinks we're divided and weak. She'll no doubt focus the Watch on the exits out of the city instead of searching every inch of the city."

"Let us hope so. If that woman didn't fear you before she does now. She will surely act more unpredictable." Syrio remarked.

"Then let's hope Lord Tywin reins her in slightly. Doubt he will be thrilled once he learned what happened at the court."

"Surely he will support his daughter in the end."

"Maybe…course he knows the crisis that will happen if any harm comes to Eddard or his daughters. No point in winning the Iron Throne if half of the Kingdoms turn against you."

"Whatever the case, you two best rest while I handle things. I'll be sure to update you on any news and rumors that come around." Davos shifted out of his seat, moving towards the door to leave.

Geralt gave a tired sigh as he'd rub one hand over his face, stroking over the growing scruff across his chin. "Can't believe all of this happened still. Fate must really have a sick sense humor to force me into situations like this."

"You've been through this before?" Syrio curiously questioned.

"Long story…one I'm too tired to share." Shrugging his swords off his back, he'd set them on the table while he'd lean back. "I need to rest. Have some time to myself…if you don't mind Syrio."

"I understand well my friend. I'll try to keep young Arya distracted in the meantime."

The Witcher only nodded as he'd close his eyes, body feeling drained after using Signs back in the hall. He hated how the growing risks were limited his capabilities. Right now, the last thing he needed was exhausting himself or even knocking himself out in the middle of a fight. He knew another fight was going to rear its ugly head eventually and he needed to be in top form to face it.

…

Three days slowly pasted by, dull yet tense days as Geralt watched Davos men bring in scattered Stark loyalists. Most detailed their difficult battle out of the Red Keep, only to get surrounded by Tywin's soldiers who were returning to the Keep at that moment. Most were captured in that case, leaving only a third of the force remaining.

News was quickly released, mainly the declaration of Joffrey being the next King of the Seven Kings. Then there were the claims of Eddard attempting a coup in a selfish grab for power, using lies of Joffrey being a bastard of Cersei with an unknown individual. Geralt wasn't certain if the Queen had this information leak out from the Court or the gossiping nature of that environment had let such details slip. There was a brief list of co-conspirators released, with the Witcher being listed as the second in command along with having a largest bounty of fifty thousand gold crowns. There was no mention of his Signs, making him assume they either decided to hide the fact his magical nature or perhaps they didn't understand what had happened during the escape from the throne room.

Beyond that, there was no details on the inner workings within the Red Keep, though Geralt assumed Varys would fill him in when the spymaster decided to reveal himself. On the fourth night since Ned's capture, Geralt would sudden heard loud chatter outside in the main common room. He'd quickly head over to find the surviving men gathered around Thoros and Beric, the two men looked dirtied and quite roughed up by the looks of it.

"You crazy bastard!" Thoros laughed out when he saw the Witcher, moving up to firmly shake hands with. "We thought you were going through hell, but here you are lazing around in a dank warehouse."

"Gotten lucky really." Geralt remarked back, a small smirk on his face. "What have you two been through? Heard a lot of mixed rumors, some claims you were dead or had fled the city."

"Hiding out in Flee Bottom." Beric explained. "A few of the locals helped, mainly recognizing Thoros from the tournament. The guards tracked us down, forced us to flee and fight a few times. We were lucky Davos men found us since the bounties put on us were quickly turning the peasants against us."

"Greed is a useful weapon, something the Lannisters use well." Geralt looked between his two companions. "Right now, you two deserve a long rest and wash. You both saved a lot of lives getting your men to spread out through the city."

"Aye…but doesn't change the fact over what happened." Beric muttered grimly. "Its only a matter of time that Cersei and her son put Lord Stark on a public trial and as for Sansa…they no doubt will force her to marry Joffrey to ensure control of the North in the years to come."

"A power grab through force." The Witcher muttered. "So then what do we do now?"

Everyone in the room glanced between each other before all eyes focused on the Witcher, who glanced about as if expecting them to be looking at someone else.

"Wait…surely you're not expecting me to lead everyone? Lord Beric, these are your men after all, and you have an official position considering."

"That is true though relying on my title will do little. I'm a minor lord considering and my influence here in King's Landing is nonexistent now that I'm branded a traitor. Besides I lack any connections within the capital." The nobleman answered back. "When all seemed beak in the throne room, it was your quick planning and skill that got us all out alive."

"Don't look to me Geralt. I know a dozen prayers to the Red God and will fight any man you point me to…but leading has never been a skill of mine." Thoros quickly reacted when Geralt's gaze moved onto him.

The Witcher was silent as he looked over the group, gazes of respect even a bit of awe showing. Everyone must have heard of the daring escape out of the Keep along with the fact he openly insulted Joffrey and Cersei in such a bold manner. Geralt never saw himself as a leader, it wasn't right for a Witcher to take such a role. Yet it had happened time and again.

"For one we need an escape plan from the city. Leaving by land is going to be impossible with such a large group…lucky we have Davos here."

The trader decided to speak up, having been hanging back for most of the conversation. "My ship should be able to sneak everyone out of the city. Will need time to get proper disguises and other arrangements so that we have no trouble slipping away from the capital and to the safety of Dragonstone."

"You think Lord Stannis will let us stay?"

"Of course, he will! Lord Stark put his reputation and life on the line to declare Stannis as the rightful heir. If has second thoughts I will argue for days and nights to change his stubborn mind."

"Heh, good to know." Geralt paused in thought before Thoros spoke up.

"What about Lord Stark and his other daughter? Surely we should plan a rescue or-"

"No."

"What?! You're not suggesting we let that damn witch parade him around and-"

"You're not thinking right Thoros. Cersei may be power hungry but she's not stupid. If Eddard dies, the whole North along with its allies will lash out in vengeance. If we try and free him, we'll only verify him as a traitor even further."

"Just not right to leave him…" The Red Priest grumbled.

Beric put a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "You're sense of loyalty is right, but the approach is wrong. Using force got us into this crisis, we can't make that mistake again."

"Thoros does have one point, we need to be ready for anything. Weapons and armor could help if any surprises come around."

"Sadly I can't simply buy arms and armor for you. Doing so no would surely draw attention to me and possibly expose us." Davos muttered.

With that detail shared, Geralt thought for a moment before an idea came to mind. "May have someone who can help with this…"

…

Tobho Mott stroked his beard as he'd study over the vast pile of notes he had, dozens of arcane studies from both the city of Qohor and runes Geralt had shared with him. On his desk there was also a set of scales which had a mix of different ores set into it, rare materials that the Witcher had also shared.

"So close…everything is making sense now…" The master smith muttered as he'd quickly cross out an equation he had made before redoing it again. "The material quality is right…yet what is wrong with the forging process?"

"Working this late Mott?"

The smith gasped as he'd sit up in his seat, turning about to see Geralt at the doorway. With the darkness surroundings the man shivered seeing those piercing cat eyes staring at him.

"So, is it true what happened?" The man muttered, tense still from being surprised.

"What do you think?"

There was a long pause before Mott relaxed, letting go of a fine dagger he had hidden among the papers. "It makes no sense for a man like you or Lord Eddard to attempt a coup. You're far to honest and direct for such a thing."

"You trust that logic?"

"Could just be my gut instinct…either way I know why you're here. You need my help."

Geralt nodded as he'd move closer, pacing along the nearby displays of fine armor and weapons. "We need supplies. weapons and light armor, simple protection."

"How many?"

"Enough for twenty men."

Mott sighed at the number. "I can do fifteen at least. If I sent for any more then I'd draw attention."

The Witcher knew better then to debate on the matter, knowing the smith was putting a lot on the line by helping. "Then that will have to do. I guess the issue will come to the price…"

"No need. This won't cost you?"

"Why? I can surely-"

Again, Mott spoke up. "You don't understand. Considering everything you have shared with me over the past few months, I feel I'm about to make a discovery of legendary proportions."

"Wait you don't mean…"

Mott gave a wide grin as he'd gesture Geralt closer to the table, showing over his notes. "Your diagrams and materials gave quite key insights on crafting Valyrian Steel. For one the ores needed are rare, though obtainable with the right sources." The man explained. "Magical inscribing was tricky for a while, though the runic designs helped fill in the gaps. This explains why such blades never need sharpening or ever rust."

"Seems like you have everything down."

"So, it would seem…" The smith muttered. "I've already done some trial tests. Took a long while to get most of the steps detailed correct, but despite all of this I haven't had success. I've made some fine weapon, yet still not to the right quality."

"Any idea what is the issue?"

A low chuckle escaped from the master smith. "I guess it's the only logical really. My theory would explain why no one has ever been able to recreate Valyrian Steel. The issue is the heat required to get the right pressure to bind the ores and magical enhancements together. I used my strongest forge with top quality fuel, only leading to failure." A low laugh soon followed. "The heat required be something only a dragon be capable of giving."

There was a long moment of quiet as the news sunk in, Geralt nodded in agreement. "Still doesn't change the fact you've rediscovered one of the world's most desired secrets."

"Aye…and I plan to continue it. It may take time…years…maybe decades, but I will find a way." Again, an amused chuckle. "Perhaps dragons will simply appear once more. Ah that be such a strange twist of fate."

"You never know."

"Indeed." Nodding his head, he'd give a tired sigh before speaking again. "My ramblings aside, is there anything else you need?"

"Yes, in fact." Geralt reached into his leather jacket to take out two pieces of paper, handing it over to Mott. One was a list of items while the other a meeting point for the gear to be delivered to Davos men. "Need some specialized weapons for myself. Feel its time I pick up on some old techniques."

For a long moment Mott read over the list, shaking his head and smirking. "You are a strange fellow Geralt. Quite the unique selection, though nothing beyond what I have. I'll have your new gear and the supplies for your men within a few days." After memorizing what was written, he'd hold both papers by a nearby candle, carefully setting them on fire before dropping them in the candle tray to cinder away.

"Good. You're doing the right thing helping us Mott." Geralt moved away from the desk, seeming ready to leave. "Business aside though, there is one personal matter to talk over."

"Which would be?"

"Gendry."

Mott's face hardened slightly, knowing well what was going on. "If you plan to drag that boy into all of this…" He sternly warned.

"No, if anything I'm concerned about this life. Cersei and Joffrey will no doubt figure out the identities of Robert's bastard offspring. They all have a better claim to the Iron Throne then Joffrey or his siblings. Joffrey is unstable, he may very well try to round up and kill them all in twisted spite."

"I know that." Mott muttered. "So, what do you propose then?"

"Let me take Gendry out of King's Landing. I have a means of leaving the capital unnoticed and he would be safer at Dragonstone with his uncle."

"Heh and you believe Lord Stannis will be accepting of a bastard of his older brother?"

"Has to be a risk I'll take. If needed I'm sure the Starks will accept him into their protection." Looking at Mott, the man seemed hesitant. "If he stays you may very well end up dead as well. Put your duty and pride aside on this matter."

The master smith was silent for a long moment before he'd give a low sigh. "I will make plans then. The boy will be sent along with the shipment of supplies. Yet…" He'd move to stand up, one hand out to the Witcher. "You swear by the Black Goat that you will protect that boy."

Geralt glanced at the man's rough hand before reaching out to grasp it. "I swear to it then." They'd shake on it, yet for a split moment the Witcher swore his wolf medallion trembled slightly on it's chain, making him wonder if the deal had some magical element to it. He didn't question it though as he'd pull away and move for the door out.

"Then be safe Witcher. Dark days are coming…I feel it…" Mott warned as he'd return to his seat.

…

The Witcher made sure his cloak hood was up to cover his white hair and scarred face as he'd slip through the dark alleyways of King's Landing, taking a longer yet discrete route back to Blackwater Harbor. It was difficult to move around even during the late hours of the night, since the Watch was active throughout all hours of the city. Plus, he couldn't risk the citizens from recognizing him for fear of being reported as well.

So far his trip back seemed peaceful enough, yet as he was nearing the harbor he'd heard someone shifting about behind him. He sudden had a feeling that someone had been following him, making the Witcher tense for his steel blade which he gripped at.

"Please relax Geralt. No need to violence." The calm voice of Varys spoke out from the darkness.

When the Witcher glanced over to the man, he'd quickly notice the heavy crossbow in his hands, a powerful enough to pierce through thick plate armor. The spymaster was in plain clothes, blending in like any other laborer in the city. "You're the one pointing a bolt at my back." Geralt calmly countered back.

"Not taking chances right now, not after what I know about you." Varys kept his distance, making sure Geralt couldn't face him. "I saw about what you did in the throne room. The suddenly 'gush of wind' threw everyone about. Sandor was in quite the rage, claiming he knew for months you had some trickery about you."

Geralt remained silent, debating how to handle this. He felt an Axii would stun Varys long enough to 'persuade' him to drop the crossbow, since he knew the weapon this close would be difficult to deflect at such close range. It was obvious the spymaster had planned well for this encounter. His hand shifted from his sword, making Varys speak up again.

"Hands still Witcher. I know your tricks involve gestures of some kind…and that you have some mind affected power as well." The man stated. "Don't be surprised. Lancel and Pycelle seemed quite odd during times I questioned them, having vague memories after chatting with you."

Again, Geralt was caught off guard by how the man had discovered more of his Signs capabilities. While it didn't mean Varys had a full advantage, it was rare for the Witcher to encounter someone so observant, much less in a world lacking in magic. "So, what do you want then? I thought you planned to aid me?"

"It all matters on how our conversation goes. I want answers, the truth about you and your powers." Varys simply answered. "I know your cover story is a lie…a bad one considering. So, if you want my aid you will tell me everything."

Geralt debated if he should refuse or try to fight back. While Varys had the drop on him, he still had his other Signs to catch the man off guard or just use his mutant reflexes to escape. Yet he knew he needed the spymaster's help, no matter how much he disliked the man. "Its going to be a long story considering. It maybe best we leave this alley." He warned.

"No, we will be fine just here. My Little Birds will keep any prying eyes away, so we will have plenty of time to chat." He'd keep his crossbow steady as he spoke, showing he was focused on his task. "So then…care to begin."

Giving a weary sigh, the Witcher nodded. "If that is your price…though I'll doubt you'll believe me once my tale is done…"

…

Hours pass by as Geralt detailed his history along with the events that lead up to his arrival here in Westeros. Varys was patient as he'd listen to every detail, only asking a few questions on a few certain topics, mainly on how Witcher Signs worked.

"Heh…you were right. It is hard to believe much of what you have shared." The chubby man muttered. "It seems your abilities are gifted…little more then a tool of your profession. Not at all like the arcane arts known in Essos."

"Mind if I ask a question of my own?"

Varys paused before shrugging. "Very one. One question."

"Why the distrust towards magic? If anything such skill and knowledge is limited to this world, practically non-existent."

"True…yet that doesn't mean it can bring suffering still. My…condition is because of one man's ambitions to understand the darker arts. A longer tale for another time really."

"So…it's a personal reason." Geralt paused for a moment in thought. "Now then, what do you plan to do now with me?"

"You upheld the end of my request. I will always be on guard with you Witcher, yet your unnatural abilities aside I know your morals and honesty come first." Slowly he'd lower his crossbow, sighing as his arms were no doubt sore from holding it up for so long. "Perhaps we best get down to business. You surely have many questions to ask."

With the weapon no longer pointed at him, Geralt relaxed slightly, stretching a bit since he had been standing about for so long. "Plenty. What is going on within the Red Keep?"

"Chaos really. Lord Stark may be branded a traitor, but his accusations has spread much doubt. Already there are news of ravens arriving to different lordships, detailing about Joffrey and her other children being a bastards from Cersei's infidelity."

"Seems Eddard was wise to do so before hand."

"A cunning plan on his part, though I doubt it will help his case. That aside, Lord Tywin was quite displeased hearing what happened. It is mainly the fact that his daughter ripped up King Robert's last decree. Had she accepted, she'd seem less guilty of the other accusations thrown onto her and her son. Tywin is no fool, he had planned for his family to take the through naturally, yet Cersei was far too impatient considering how recent events have played out. Because of this, Tywin is keeping a close eye on everything she is doing to ensure there is no more incidents."

"A small reprieve it seems, though I know Lord Lannister is far more calculating then his daughter." Pausing, he'd think for a moment before continuing.

"What about Ser Barristan?"

"The Lord Commander…has been dismissed of his duty with the King's Guard."

"What?" Geralt was baffled at the news.

"It is mainly his failure for capturing you. They claim that he has become too old to uphold the duties of Lord Commander. He was given the offer of lordship and promises of luxurious retirement for his long service, yet he took it as an insult." Varys smiled slightly. "You should have seen how he threw off his armor in the court, even threaten all the King's Guard who nearly apprehend him."

"How did Jaime react?" Geralt was curious considering Barristan was the young knight's mentor.

"He was the only one to not to laugh at him or draw his blade against him. In fact, he seemed quite shocked. However he was also promoted as the new Lord Commander, a promotion none are surprised with."

"So what of Barristan then?"

"Simply gone. I am working to track him down, yet a man of his skills knows how to make himself disappear. I'm certain though he remains in the capital, although why I can't be certain."

Nodding, Geralt thought for a moment before continuing. "What of Eddard and Sansa?"

"Lord Stark will be having a trial the day after Joffrey's coronation for the charge of treason and conspiracy. It is certain his fate will be banishment to the Wall, a safe choice to avoid open conflict with the rest of the North." He'd pause before continuing. "As for Sansa, she is planned to wed to Joffrey and remain a political hostage for the Lannisters. If anything she is their trump card in keeping the Stark family in line."

"It all makes sense, just as everyone else had predicted." Geralt muttered. "Then what can we even do? Both are beyond our reach considering."

"Not entirely." Varys stepped closer, taking out a scroll from one pocket which he handed off. Geralt unrolled it to reveal a detailed map of the Great Sept of Baelor along with the streets leading to the Red Keep. There were arrows detailing the routes certain parties were meant to travel, security plans.

Geralt glanced up at Varys, an odd look in his eyes. "What are you suggesting here?"

"Lord Stark's fate is assured, though we cannot let the Lannister's keep Sansa. I cannot let them have a strangle hold over this country." The spymaster stated. "I wouldn't attempt such a bold plan yet knowing your conviction and skills I feel this will work."

Again, he'd study the map, already ideas coming to mind. "This would be risky to do. It could get the others and I killed."

"If you fear the risks I understand. However you know this may be your only chance to steal a full victory from Cersei. I expect an answer now."

The Witcher was silent, hating how he had so little time to decide on this matter. This was a choice that decide the fates of so many, perhaps even the whole country itself. Clenching the scroll tightly, he'd give a low growl before bowing his head slightly. "Yes. This will be the only chance we got to even the odds."

Varys grinned softly, pleased to see the Witcher's fierce edge showing. "Then we best begin Witcher. History is about to be made…"

…


	23. S1-E22: The Age of Strife

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Age of Strife…**

 **Forward: I'd like to again thank Rainsfere for his editing and peer-review of this chapter along with Althad Eissa AlMbarizum.**

…

Gendry stared back at the Witcher sternly, the young blacksmith having not been pleased being forced to leave his home at Mott's workshop. It had been a day since the delivery of supplies to the Stark loyalists, though the young man's mood hadn't improved since. When the rest of the men learned he was one of King Robert's bastard children, they subtlety treated him with more respect, perhaps because the boy seemed like a splitting image of the late ruler in his youth.

"You've been quiet ever since we've taken you in, Gendry." Geralt muttered, leaning back against the nearby wall while the boy sat on a nearby cot. "I know your not happy with this…"

"Considering I never had a say in it…"

"Yet would you have agreed to leave if I asked you?"

Gendry didn't answer, only fiddling with the bull shaped helm, the same one Geralt had seen him working on in the past. The boy stared at it before glancing up back to the Witcher. "So what about the others?"

"Others?"

"My other brothers and sisters. The other bastards of my father?"

Geralt didn't answer, gaze drifting off to the small dirty window that just showed the open harbor outside. "Nothing we can do for them. Too many to track down…too many with families and livelihoods here."

"So, your abandoning them." The boy's tone was accusing, spiteful.

"What would you have me do? Trounce into very damn brothel and poor household that Robert decided to lay in?" The Witcher answered back sternly. "I'd like nothing more then to get them to safety, but the risks are too great.

"Then why bother with me?"

"Because Robert went to great lengths to keep you safe and cared for." Geralt shifted from the wall, pacing closer to the boy. "When I questioned him about you, he showed such regret. Deep down he wanted to properly raise you but couldn't because of the risks it brings." Stopping before Gendry, he'd hold one hand out for the helm, the Gendry hesitating before handing it over for the Witcher to examine.

"I just wanted to stay at the workshop…finish my apprenticeship and start my own blacksmith."

"Life is never simple Gendry. I don't expect you to rise up as the next heir to the Kingdoms…that isn't the life you want. Hopefully you can continue your craft once we're safe with your Uncle or in the North." He'd set the helm beside the boy before moving for the door. "Still, more Kings and rulers could do with your good heart…"

Leaving the room, the young smith glanced back at the helm before shifting up from his bed. Brushing over his short cut hair, he gave a shaky sigh as he felt so many conflicting emotions go through him. Part of him wanted nothing more then to run away from all of this, not be dragged around like some prisoner. He'd glance over at his pack, moving over to it as he'd check over his belongings, debating if he should just risk it and run now.

"No…not yet…" He muttered to himself, calming down as he'd return to his cot as he tried to think of a clearer plan, unknowing that during his shuffle through his pack he had overlooked a small leather-bound booklet that had the city emblem of Qohor marked across its front.

…

Two more tense days passed for Geralt and his companions, the group working tirelessly in preparation for Eddard's trial midday tomorrow. While it was night time, the city was echoing with the sound of horns and bells, open celebration of the crowning of King Joffrey. At the least, the guards would no doubt be hung over and tired for tomorrows events.

The Witcher leaned over the meeting table, a larger version of Varys' map laid out across it. He'd glance up at Beric, Davos, Thoros, Syrio and the sixteen other men armed for this mission. They all muttered to each other, hints of uncertainty despite the days of planning. He knew they were all on edge for this, worried of another betrayal like before at the Red Keep.

"Everything feels…to well thought out…too certain." Thoros grumbled as he'd glance over the laid-out routes. "I know you believe Varys, but I sure as hell don't."

"Thoros has a point. This could all be one big trap to crush us all." Beric muttered in hesitant agreement.

The other arms men muttered mixed thoughts, seeming divided as well.

"Are you worrying maids or men?" Syrio accused sharply, making Thoros glance at the short duelist. "If fear and doubt grips you so much, I question how any of you can survive one battle."

"Want to test me Braavosi!?" Thoros growled, giving a bloodthirsty grin as he'd stare down at the shorter man.

"Enough!"

The sharp order from Geralt made everyone silent, since they never heard the gruff man speak out so loudly. Those cat eyes gazed across the group, unblinking as he examined each person. "You are all right to doubt this mission. I feel just as doubtful that things will play out as expected." He calmly stated. "Lord Eddard knew the risks he was taking when he confronted Cersei. No doubt every death that happened that day haunts him right now." He'd a low sigh as he'd collect his thoughts. "If anything, I'd rather not put any of your lives on the line."

Davos stepped up to the table, staring back at the Witcher. "I know deep down you'd prefer to do this alone. You're not one to rely on others…not like this." He stated. "The odds are damn against us, yet I know very well what will happen if we leave that poor girl in the Lannister's hands."

The men gave nods and short remarks of agreements, determination returning to them.

"Then let's go over the plan one last time." Beric added as he'd point over the map. "Right now, Lord Eddard is being held in the cells of the Great Sept for the night, while Sansa remains under watch in the Red Keep. Midday, she along with most of the Lannister family will travel to the Sept on separates routes through the side streets of the city."

Geralt nodded before he'd speak up. "Once the trial ends, Eddard should be escorted to the western most gate, the Gate of the Gods, to be sent off to the Wall…at least from Varys' estimates. The both the Lannisters and Sansa will return to the Red Keep once again through separate routes." He'd tap his finger over one intersection which Sansa's route arrow passed by. "Here we make our move. We'll surround Sansa's guards quickly and discretely. Then we'll take one of the planned escape routes back to Blackwater Harbor and leave on Davos ship. By the time the Lannisters realize what is going on, we will be long gone."

"So, what if something goes wrong, such as reinforcements or a counter ambush." Syrio curiously asked.

"I crafted these with what supplies Davos had." Geralt gestured to a set of leather wrapped metal tubes and spheres with fuses across the table. "The tubes are flares, a signaling device that armies back home used. Simple alchemy that creates bright flaming projectile that quickly burns out." He'd then pick up one of the bombs. "Beric and Thoros know about my bombs, handy tools for groups of enemies. These simply give out thick smoke to distract and provide cover, good for quick escapes or an ambush."

"Some interesting tools for sure." Davos commented as he examined one. "Surprised the Maesters haven't crafted such things."

"I'm just as surprised. They should have the knowledge and tools to make such things…" Indeed, innovation was quite stagnant considering the long history the world had, though he didn't let such thoughts distract him now. "Overall these devices can be dangerous if misused, so use them as instructed and only if needed."

However, before anything else could be said, one of Davos crewmen would hurry into the room and approach the Witcher. "Uhh…Ser Geralt, there is a small issue outside."

"What kind of issue?"

"Some…well…sellsword. A quite intimidating fellow who wants to talk with you."

Worried looks hinted Geralt's companions, Thoros and Syrio seeming to have an idea who their intruder was.

"I'll deal with this." The Witcher muttered as he'd shift away from the table and head out the door, already drawing out of steel blade. With this individual, he was taking no chances.

…

"Bloody Hells Geralt! Put that damn thing away!" Bronn cursed out as he backed away at the sight of the Witcher with his sword in hand. Despite the man's surprise, he had his usual smug smirk on his face. The sellsword had his hands up away from the sword and dagger at his hips, though the Witcher still was on guard for any sudden moves.

"How did you find us?" He sharply questioned. "If you've been followed or told anyone I swear…"

"Calm down already! You think I'm a damn amateur or that selfish?"

The Witcher's silence was a simple enough answer back, making Brann roll his eyes slightly.

"Alright maybe I am selfish. However I know Cersei's bounty of you and the others is just a ploy. Considering her history of backstabbing, I'm pretty sure I'd be sharing a noose alongside everyone else."

"Still haven't answered my question."

Bronn shrugged, guessing it was time to explain himself. "A bit of guess work and deduction. Everyone was quite baffled at how you slipped out of the castle unnoticed. However, Tyrion knew your good friends with Davos, someone who everyone else has over looked. Make sense how you'd evade the Watch with his aid and resources."

"Classic Tyrion. Guess he'd be one of the few to come to such reasoning." Geralt muttered. "Still doesn't explain why you tracked me down."

The sellsword shifted a large pack off his shoulder before setting it down between them, then moved away. It was obvious he wanted to give the Witcher space, since he knew just how fast Geralt's reflexes were. Moving to the pack, Geralt opened it up to see some familiar items, packed herbs, potions, bombs and pouches of gold."

"My belongings…" At this point he'd remember leaving them behind, a costly oversight considering his Witcher tools would be very dangerous if fallen into the wrong hands. It was a bit embarrassing that he had forgotten all of this during the hectic escape from the Red Keep. "Why?"

"Because Tyrion knew better. First thing his sister did was have the guards raid your room and smash that tough chest of yours. Smart move considering it took them a long while to crack open." Bronn casually explained. "A lot of it sent off to the Grand Maester to be studied. Had to sneak in to steal most of it back…though I couldn't snag everything."

"Just hope nothing too dangerous was left behind." Geralt picked up the pack and shrugged it over one shoulder. "Thank you for doing this. Surprised you put yourself at risk to do this."

"Oh, I didn't." Bronn smirked slyly. "I was given quite the bonus, a small cut from yours and Tyrion's funds."

"Huh…guess human greed wins out still."

"We all have our vices." The sellsword shrugged, giving an amused grin seeing the annoyed look on the Witcher's face.

"So, is there anything else? I expected Tyrion to have a message pleading for me to leave while I can."

"Guess he realized such words would be wasted considering your conviction and stubbornness. If anything, he's really going to miss chatting over drinks." However, the mercenary gave a small sigh. "Yet I have some personal advice Geralt, whatever your plan to do it's not worth it. Cut your losses and go North while you can."

For a long while the Witcher didn't answer back, only giving that unblinking stare back at Bronn. "That is the thing about advice. No one needs to follow it." There be a tense pause before he continued. "Tell Tyrion we'll meet again one day...share a long few tales over drinks."

"Heh, you sound confident on that claim."

"Because I am."

The sellsword smirked and shook his head, though seemed amused. "Then I'll owe you ten gold dragons if that day comes." Tugging up his cloak hood, he'd give a short saluting wave as he'd back out of the alley. "Try to stay alive Geralt. Rather not see your head on a pike back at the Red Keep."

Once the sellsword was out of sight, Geralt relax as he'd sheath his sword. He understood Bronn's mentality, focusing on himself before all others. Perhaps there was a reason for his self-centered thinking, some past event that made him that way. However, that was a matter for another time.

Walking around to the back of the warehouse, he'd head back inside to rejoin the rest of the group. He'd make sure to tell some of Davos men to double the watch for any trouble, not wanting to take any chances Bronn had been followed or may have lied about giving up their location. He may consider Bronn a friend to a degree but couldn't let such feelings blind him to possible risks. He'd return to the meeting room to tell everyone what happened and discus the minor details of their rescue plan. There were dozens of places everyone had to be and back up plans for any possible situation. He was going to let anything catch them off guard this time, no matter the doubts or risks. One thing was certain, the events of tomorrow would determine the future of all of Westeros.

…

Geralt listened to the ringing bells and chattering that echoed throughout the capital as today was Eddard's trial. He was certain much of the city be out in the streets, wanting to see what was going to happen to Lord Stark. There was no doubt a divide among the people, those who felt Eddard was being framed and those blindly loyal to the royal family.

"Glad I requests those extra tools." He muttered to himself as he'd gaze over his new equipment he had requested from Mott. There was a pouch of throwing knives, fine blades which he'd start to slot in the inner pockets of his leather jacket, chest piece and side of his boots. Been a while since he used such weapons after getting his crossbow, though they'd be effective for short range fights or to weaken his opponents

The other item he requested was a thin weighted chain, a more exotic weapon he used in the past such as against the Striga many years back. While not the most lethal of weapons, he felt it be useful in surprising enemies or getting them tangled up if used correctly. He just hoped he wasn't too out of practice in using it. Carefully bundling the chain up, he'd fit it into a larger pouch at the back of his left hip, easy to draw out for quick use.

Next were a collection of crossbow bolts, specialized one modified through differing diagrams. Blunted bolts had been made counter tougher armor or to knock out enemies, since Geralt preferred not killed the guards who were simply just following orders. He did have more exotic bolts, a few split and explosive bolts for emergencies. Lasted he packed few of his grapeshot bombs, something which he hoped he wouldn't have to use if the mission play out right.

Just as he was finishing up, there was a knock at the door. "Enter."

Davos opened the door, the captain having that serious look in his eyes as he watched Geralt pull his jacket on and strap his swords onto his back. "It's time. Everyone is waiting for your order." The gruff man simply said.

Geralt nodded as he'd grab his dark hooded cloak off the nearby wall hook, though he didn't put it on yet. Following the sea captain to the main meeting room, he'd find everyone else standing by, dressed most were wearing cloaks and plains clothes with leather armor for minor protection. They all looked attentively to the Witcher as he'd glance over each member of the rescue team.

"Usually…this would be the moment someone gives a big heroic speech." He started, making a few chuckles fill the air, easing the tension in the air. "So, I'm going to get to the point. We all know the plan…we all understand the risks. So, let's get out there and make history, show the Lannister we're not finished yet."

The men gave a short hurrah at the final words before everyone began to file out of the warehouse side door. Syrio, Thoros and Beric would make sure to lead everyone safely to the ambush point before meeting up at the Grand Sept to watch the trial.

"I know my place is here at the docks, but I wish I could come." Davos muttered, catching Geralt's attention. "The boat will be ready for your hopeful return. Besides that, I wish the best of luck to you."

"Thank you, Davos." The two firmly shook hands before Geralt moved aside to the nearby door, though stopped when he noticed Arya suddenly rush out from the other room. She was dressed in spare boy's clothes, the best the group could get for the young girl although she didn't complain. She had Needle at her hip, tied on with some strong twine.

"I want to come as well!" She suddenly pleaded, a determined look on her face.

"No." Geralt simply answered back, knowing well why she was doing this now. "I get why you're doing this. You want to see your father before it's too late."

Arya didn't answer, only glancing down before nodding slightly. "Just…you could have one of the men watch me. They could take me back once the trial is over."

The Witcher shook his head though. "We don't have anyone else to spare to watch you. Besides we have too many recognizable faces as it is." He'd put a hand on her shoulder, trying to have her look at him. "I know you worry and miss him, yet he wouldn't want you to put yourself at risk like that."

The girl balled her hands into fists, seeming to agreeing and hating the Witcher's reasoning at the same time. She didn't argue though, only pulling away from his reach and hurrying back into the other room before Geralt could say anything more.

"She'll understand." Davos muttered. "I'll make sure to keep a close eye on her, make sure she doesn't run off on her own."

With that assured, the Witcher moved back towards the side door out. "Then I'll see you in a few hours. Stay safe Davos."

"You too Geralt."

Watching the Witcher leave though, the old smuggler had a strange feeling come to him. It was that gut instinct that something bad was going to happen, something beyond anyone's power to prevent.

…

It was slow work getting all the way to the Grand Sept discretely with the streets filled with people, even in the back alleys that snaked throughout the capital. However, Geralt made sure to keep his cloak hood low and blend with the crowds during the long walk up to the grand cathedral. While he had visited it only a few times during his trips through the city, it easily dwarfed even the grandest buildings of faith from his world.

The plaza held statues of famous saints and Kings from Westeros history spread about, looming over the sea of people gathered here. From the nearby buildings, the nobility and higher born watched the crowd, seeming amused seeing the masses so excited. Geralt glanced among the commoners, his sharp gaze able to pick out Thoros and Beric who were spread out towards the side alleys linking into the plaza. He couldn't see Syrio, guessing the man's short stature made it harder to notice him. His attention though did quickly focus on the front of the cathedral itself.

At the front of the Sept was a rough stoned stage with differing levels to it, a place where public decrees and events were hosted. Already the royal court and family was gathered, standing on various levels of the stone platform. On the right side was Sandor, Varys, Pycelle, two members of the King's Guard along with a well-dressed man with the symbol of the Seven set on his robes, no doubt the current High Septon.

The left side of the mid-level was the Watch Commander Janos Slynt with three City Watch standing beside him. Nearby was Jaime, the young knight now wearing the fine plate of Lord Commander for his order. Despite the grand rank he had earned, the man seemed quite tense as he'd glance over the crowd and look to the upper stage at the rest of his family.

On that higher level of the stage was Cersei, Joffrey, Tywin and Sansa. Joffrey was dressed similarly as last time, though now with his 'father's' crown rested on his blond head. The boy had a pleased look on his face gazing over his subjects, no doubt enjoying the adoration shown to him.

Cersei was dressed lavishly as always for public gatherings, wearing red and golden dress with a wide cloak covering her. Her face was calm though a hint of pride showing, no doubt with her believing she had achieved a full victory over the week.

Tywin as usual wore fine plain noble clothes, being practical as always. While the man often had passive looks on his face, Geralt could tell Lord Lannister wasn't amused by what he was witnessing. It made the Witcher wonder what was going on between the rest of the family, considering Cersei's aggressive grabs for power. He just hoped the stern lord could keep some order to this farce of a trial.

Lastly for Sansa, the girl was obviously distraught despite how lovely she looked with her well-kept hair and fine dress. It looked like she had cried recently from what he could tell, though she did well to stay composed before the gathered crowd. Geralt knew she was mainly there to be shown off and to remind Eddard the price of not confessing to his 'crimes'.

"Not much longer…" He muttered, as the bells tolled for the coming hour, the beginning of the trial.

From a grand entrance of the Grand Sept, a group of City Watch stepped forward, two of them dragging Lord Stark forward towards the baying crowd. Eddard looked quite roughed up, hair disheveled, parts of his face bruised from beatings and eyes half closed from the bright light of the day. He was in the same clothes as the day he was arrested, the leather ripped and dirtied from being stuck in a cell for a week. He'd glance about the plaza and the massive crowd, people cursing or pleading to him as the guards yanked him forward.

The City Watch cleared a path through the commoners, giving enough space for a few to grab or spit at him, though Eddard did well not to react to the abuse. Geralt kept his hood low as they'd pass by, not wanting to be noticed by his friend. It would be easy for Ned to mistake his appearance here to be a rescue plan for him, which may complicate matters.

Soon Ned was dragged up to the stone stage, the man looking upward at his daughter who stared back, a pleading look hinting her face as he'd pass by. Reaching the center of the platform, the guards stopped and let go of Lord Stark, making him stand on his own. They'd march down to the crowd, forcing them back as they made a perimeter to stop anyone from getting too close. Perhaps it was to keep the angrier commoners back or security from the people who supported Eddard.

By now the crowds baying slowly quieted down while the bells gave their final tolls. Soon silence followed as Eddard looked forward, doing his best to seem strong before everyone.

"I'm Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell…and Hand of the King." He spoke out, voice strong and clear despite his obviously weakened state. For a moment he'd pause, face tensing as if he was biting his own tongue before he'd quickly glance to his right, looking again at Sansa who gave a few short nods. "I come before you to…confess my treason…in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King…and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children but before his blood was cold…I plotted to murder his son." Again he paused, jaw shaking as he struggled to be calm as he forced himself to speak out lies. "…and seize the throne for myself."

The crowd spoke out then, mix of anger and disbelief filling the air.

"Treason!"

"Lies!"

"Damn the traitor!"

There were too many words going about, making it even hard for Geralt to understand what the crowds were even saying. However, he could see a good few being silent, doubtful despite what they were hearing. Suddenly though Ned flinched as a stone was thrown at him, striking at the right side of his brow. The Witcher clenched one hand into a fist, wishing he saw who did that just so he could crack their jaw in payment back.

The blow bruised and cut the skin over one eye, blood trickling down over it. Sandor moved up from behind as Eddard nearly lost his balance, the tall armored warrior supporting Eddard up though the Northern lord did well to straighten himself and show no sign of pain. Without hesitation, he'd continue to speak out.

"Let the High Septom and Baelor the Blessed bare witness to what I say." His head bowed slightly, getting blood out of his eye as it dripped to the ground. "Joffrey Baratheon…is the one true heir to the Iron Throne. By the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The boy had a pleased grin show on his face as Eddard 'admitted' his legitimacy. He'd glance over at his mother who had a small smile hinting her lips, enjoying her enemy submit in such a way.

Cheers began to fill the air after Eddard finished speaking, seeming pleased with the disgrace lord 'admitting' Joffrey's right to rule. However, before the crowd got too noisy, Pycelle shuffled forward with his arms raised up to get everyone attention.

"As…as we do sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men."

Geralt quickly lost track as the Grand Maester rambled on about traditions and faith, making him shut out most of the words of his long-winded speech. The old Maester would finish though, turning to look looked over towards Joffrey with arms gesturing out to him.

"…what is to be done with this…ummm…traitor your grace?"

Again, the crowd spoke out.

"Mercy!"

"Death to the traitor!"

"Let the gods decide!"

"Send him to the Wall!"

Joffrey grinned as he'd raise one arm up to silence the masses, the people eagerly awaiting his words. "My mother wishes me to have Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch, stripped of all titles and powers to serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa…" He'd glance over to the young woman, the boy's face having an affectionate look on his face. "…has begged mercy for her father."

A hopefully look showed on the girl's face, a thankful smile even crossing it.

However, Geralt sensed something was wrong as Joffrey paused, glancing back towards Eddard. "But they have the soft hearts of women! So long as I'm your king, treason will never go unpunished!"

The young king's remarks drew confused looks cross Sansa's and Cersei's faces, while Tywin's expression became sterner. Even Geralt was realizing what the brat was building up to. "No…you can't be that crazy and stupid…" He muttered under his breath.

"Eddard wasn't alone in this treason and his cohorts lurk among us now. Thus, an example must be made for their defiance." He'd glance off to the right towards a group of lesser knights standing beside the stage. "Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

At that moment chaos broke out. The crowd went wild, cheers and shocked cries filling the air as the divided people spoke out. Geralt was certain many remembered the Mad King's own choice to execute a Warden of the North and how that broke out into a full out war. Others however just wanted to see a beheading happen.

Ser Ilyn, a tall bald man was quick to step up onto the stage, followed by a page carrying a massive and recognizable sheathed blade. It was Ice, House Stark's ancestral blade, the weapon Joffrey had planned to execute Ned with. Already Geralt had a gut feeling Joffrey had planned this from the start, it was the only explanation.

Two of the King's Guard stepped up, forcing Eddard down onto his knees. Ned's expression was just blank, just empty of all thought as the man was completely helpless. He had done everything right, confessing and lying for the sake of his daughter, yet now he was about to pay the ultimate price for one boy's sick enjoyment.

On the stage, Cersei grasped at Joffrey's side, speaking to him in a hushed tone though the boy ignored it, a pure look of malice in his eyes as he'd look between her and Eddard.

"NO! NO! PLEASE STOP THIS!" Sansa pleading out, trying to move closer to the boy, before one of the King's Guard behind the group moved up to keep her back. She was quick to struggle, almost slipping out of the man's grasp as she was becoming frantic now.

Tywin had a look of baffled surprise on his face, which was short lived as it twisted into anger. He'd look at Joffrey, yelling something out at him and his daughter beside him. Whatever was being said angered Joffrey back who snapped out, all while Cersei gave a look of pure terror over what was being said. If anything, Tywin seemed ready to strangle the boy, making Cersei get between them as she tried to reason with bickering two. He'd turn about to the executioner, but his commands were being drowned out among all the noise.

Varys was completely shocked by the order, the chubby man glancing a bit as if looking for someone to intervene. He'd hurry over to the other side of the stage, trying to speak between the arguing Lannister's, being completely ignored.

Jaime glanced about at everyone, unsure what to do in the pure chaos breaking out. He'd turn about to speak to Janos, trying to give orders to the man who stood about in confusion. The young knight pointed about, seeming to be wanting the Watch to intervene somehow. He'd step up towards his fellow King's Guard, trying to tell them to let Eddard go, though the men seemed unsure with the conflicting orders.

During all of this, Geralt struggled forward through the crowd, pushing and shoving until he neared the front of the stage. The Watch was struggling to keep the people back, shields up and swords even being drawn in warning. Already the Witcher questioned what to do, knowing right now the plan to save Sansa was completely changed now…ruined even. "EDDARD! EDDARD! NED!" He yelled out, trying to get his friend's attention.

The man must have heard as he glanced up suddenly, eyes wide as he'd look over the crowd before noticing Geralt. Even with the cloak hood up, he could just see the Witcher's scarred face and cat like eyes. A small smile hinted his face, though it was cut short as Ice was drawn out beside him, his executioner raising it up in show before the people.

Adrenaline kicked in as Geralt knew there were only moments left to decide. For a moment he closed his eyes, shutting out all the chaos around him. When he opened his eyes again everything was going in slow motion and the only sounds being his own heartbeat and breathing. It had been too long since he been placed in such a moment of stress, though he never expected it to happen in such a situation. His hands flexed and clenched at his sides, his body tensing up as he was ready to move.

"Hold it you…oh…oh gods!" The Guard started when Geralt pushed his way towards him, hood falling back to reveal his face. The man didn't get another word out before the studded fist of the Witcher punched right at his throat, crushing his windpipe with one move that left him gasping for air. Grasping the choking guard, he'd fling it hard to the right, slamming into the other two guards who could hardly react before being knocked to the ground.

"Its him! It's the White Wolf!" Someone in the crowd yelled out, awe in their voice. Quickly all focus on Ned's nearing death was gone as voices spoke out about Geralt, muttering his name and titles.

"Get them Witcher!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Down with the nobles!"

Suddenly people were outright fighting as the supporters of Geralt and Ned started to clash with those with the royal family. From the offhand comments it seemed there were some commoners who just wanted to lash out against the high and mighty, seeing this a chance to do so. People tried to rush the stage, forcing the line of guards to keep the mob back with raised shields and swinging swords. It was going to become a bloody brawl, but a suitable distraction for the Witcher.

Geralt didn't hesitate as he'd bend his legs and leap up onto the stage, clearing the five-foot height with ease. In mid-leap, he'd draw his steel blade before landing, body twisting about just as the execution swung Ice down. The Witcher wasn't sure if the attack was meant for Ned's neck or for him since he now stood in the way. It didn't matter though as he'd block the giant blade, the ringing sound of the two swords ringing out over all other noises.

The clang seemed to stop everything as for a moment silence filled the air as the Witcher and Ilyn struggled in a clash, though it was short lived. With a growl, Geralt pushed back to make the man stagger with Ice raised up. The steel blade then slashed across, cleanly cutting the man's hands off.

Right then did the noise return, screams, cheering and yells drowning out the executioner's garbled cries of pure pain as he dropped to the ground, shaking as he stared at his bloodied stumps while Ice clashed to the ground. However, Geralt wasn't distracted by the bloody scene as he'd twist about to face Sandor and the two King's Guard, the trio rushing in to attack without hesitation.

"Bloody Witcher!" The Hound growled out; sword raise up to strike.

Geralt simply raised up his left hand though, fingers twisting about which Sandor quickly recognized. While the dog helmed man turned away in time, the two King's Guard didn't as they got caught in the short burst of flames shot out by Igni. While it was little more then embers, the flames were enough to set their cloaks on fire and the heat to sheer the faces, making them yell out in a panic. The sight of flames had Sandor freeze up, the man backing away as the two royal guards struggled to put the flames out.

The Witcher though was not finished as he'd reach for one of the smoke bombs at his belt, throwing it to his left as Jaime and the City Watch were trying to intervene. The loud bang and thick smoke caught them all off guard, confusing them for a few short seconds, all the time Geralt needed to cut Eddard hand bonds off. He'd grasp around Ned's side, supporting him as the man struggled to get up from his knees.

"Can you move on your own?" Geralt asked as Eddard stood up, legs shaking slightly.

Ned nodded, panting as he struggled with exhaustion. "Aye…"

"Geralt!" Jaime's voice yelled out, the young knight stepping through the thick smoke. His face showing no anger, but a determined focus as he stared down the Witcher. "By order of King Joffrey, you are under arrest!"

"KILL HIM! KILL THE TRAITOR!"

Both men looked at Joffrey who was yelling from his higher spot, pure rage showing as he looked right at the Witcher. Cersei had a look of true fear, trying to tug her son as far away as possible. Sansa who was behind them had a look of shocked joy, a first for Geralt. She wasn't struggling with the lone guard who was keeping her as a hostage. Tywin meanwhile looked over at his son and the Witcher, the man having that stern look as he was no doubt thinking over the many possible outcomes that could play out.

"Seems he says otherwise." Geralt calmly stated back to Jaime. "Let me and Eddard go. Enough bloodshed has happened."

Jaime shook his head, stepping closer with his sword up. "Why…there is no escape here. This isn't going to be a repeat like before." He'd gesture out to the crowd, a riot seeming to be building up as people started to brawl between each other or with the line of guards. "Surrender. Father and I will…"

Yet Geralt shook his head. "No. No more deals or bargains. We walk…that is my offer." His gaze was tense towards Jaime, body shifting into a ready fighting stance.

"Then I'm sorry Geralt…"

At that moment there was a bang and a whistling sound, drawing yells and screams from the crowds. Everyone on the stage except Geralt looked up to see a flare streaking through the air, arching high up over the roof tops. More followed as the rest of Geralt's companions alerted the rest of their forces out from the side streets.

Geralt however took advantage of the flares as he'd rush Jaime, the young knight only able to react in time as his sword blocked the Witcher's. Both swords grinded together in a clash, sparks flying from the struggle. They'd twist their blades at the same time, breaking the sword lock before shuffling back only to lunge in again. Already the Witcher was being reminded of the duel at the Melee, showing Jaime was fully recovered since that fight.

Yet he didn't have time to settle this battle, knowing he'd soon be facing more of the Watch once they were organized. He'd put his inhuman reflexes to the limit as he'd did a well-timed parry for Jaime's next attack, breaking the knight's stance for just a split second. It was all the time he needed as he pushed his left hand right up to Jaime's breastplate, fingers gesturing the Aard Sign. In that moment, he could see a baffled look on the Lannister's face before the short burst of telekinetic energy shoved him forcefully back, throwing him into the trio of Watch guards off the edge of the stone stage and into the crowd below.

A sudden dizziness hit the Witcher after using the Sign, making his vision blur much like before. However, a firm hand on his shoulder snapped him back to focus as Eddard stood behind him, one hand grasping Ice, though more of dragging the blade. While it was no doubt far lighter than it looked, the sheer size made it too difficult to hold up properly

"Geralt! Hold on up there!" The voice of Thoros yelled out. The Witcher glanced about, seeing Thoros being flanked by Beric and ten of his men. The group was nearing the stage, forcing a way though the crowd before fighting with the few guards not tied up keeping the rioters back.

With aid coming along, Geralt focused his attention towards Sansa and the remaining Lannisters. "Stay back while I get your daughter." The calm statement showed he was dead set on his goal as he'd move towards the higher level of the stone platform. Tywin was the first in front, the old lord staring calmly at the Witcher even as he drew near.

"So, what do you plan to do Witcher?" Lord Lywin gripped the dagger at his hip, though the old man knew well he was no match for Geralt.

"I may be pissed off Tywin, yet I'm no fool like you grandson. I don't agree with you on a lot of matters, but I know you didn't have a role in your daughter's brazen schemes. I think this 'trial' was proof enough."

"Damn you Geralt! I'll make you suffer! I'll-"

"Silence boy! It was a mistake letting you and your mother set up this mock trial, all for your ego and grandstanding." He snapped out, silencing the boy. "Take the girl and Lord Stark. If they are your price, then it is one I'm willing to pay." Tywin shifted aside to let Geralt pass.

"A wise choice Lord Tywin." Slowly he'd walk past him, noting the man's cold stare though focusing towards Joffrey, Cersei and Sansa.

"Stop him!" Joffrey ordered the lone King's Guard holding Sansa in place, making the knight glance about as if thinking the boy meant someone else. "As your King I command-"

"Let Sansa go." Geralt calmly order, tracing the Axii Sign about as he forced the knight to obey him. The man relaxed, armored hands letting go of Sansa's arms. The feeling of weakness was shorter this time, showing that the more power used, the more taxing it was for him.

"So, a brute and a sorceress snake." Cersei muttered bitterly, the woman's gaze full of spite towards the Witcher. "You won't leave this city alive, not with the Watch and our soldiers after you."

"We'll see. Come along lady Sansa, it's time we left."

Sansa glanced at Joffrey and Cersei before him, nodding as she'd move towards him. Yet as she passed by the boy King, he'd suddenly lunge out at her.

"No! I won't let you!" He growled out, grabbing her arm roughly and yanking her aside.

"GERALT!"

Her panic wail made the Witcher spring into action, putting his inhuman speed to full use. Cersei tried to get in his way in a blind sense of protection for her son, yet Geralt pushed her aside with ease. Nearing the boy, he'd see Joffrey drawing a dagger to threaten Sansa with…a big mistake on his part. Before he could even raise it up, the Witcher's hand grabbed his and squeezed, the soft crack of young bones snapping just being heard. Joffrey gave a pathetic cry from the pain, dropping the weapon and letting Sansa go. She'd hurry out of his reach, shaking in fear over what Joffrey had been prepared to do.

Letting go of Joffrey's hand, the boy dropping to his knees as he clenched at his broken hand, crying and whimpering. "Y-You broke my h-hand …" He stammered through the pain as he looked up at Geralt, shuffling away from the blade pointed down at him. "I-I'm the King…you…c-can't hurt t-the King…"

Despite the anger he felt, he'd remember that despite Joffrey being spoiled and psychotic brat, he was still a kid. "You're no King though, just a child playing as one." He'd move his sword away, feeling enough time was wasted with him.

Just as he was turning about, he'd quick lean away to avoid Cersei's hand trying to claw at his face. "I'll kill you! Cut those cursed eyes out for that!" She hissed out before her father grabbed her other arm, pulling her away before she could lunge out.

Geralt didn't react as he'd ignore her spitting curses, moving to Sansa who stood by looking terrified. "It's time we leave Lady Sansa." He formally said to her, offering one hand for her to take.

"I…I know…" She muttered while holding back fearful tears. "I can move on my own. Still…thank you, Geralt."

The two quickly hurried down to the main stage were already Stark loyalists had gathered up, Beric and Thoros checking up on Eddard. However, before they could reach them, Sandor and the two King's Guard stood in their way, having dealt with their fire problem. All of them looked angry as well, though seemed hesitant to rush him after seeing what Igni could do. Hopefully Geralt could use their fear to his advantage since he couldn't risk using a Sign in the middle of a fight without tiring himself.

"Sansa. Go to your father and the others." Slowly he moved to get in the way of Sandor and the King's Guard, not wanting them to try and stop Sansa from hurrying over to the Stark Loyalists. "All of you should back off. If anything, you'd be better off stopping the riot instead of us."

Sandor gave a grim chuckle, seeming amused. "This is personal Witcher. I knew since we fought all the way in Winterfell you were a cheat. Whatever your…tricks are, be it magic or crackpot alchemy."

"So, you're doing this over fucking pride then? Being that petty." By now Sansa had slipped by to hurry to the others, Eddard embracing her closely, thankful she was safe.

"Pride is all I got left and if anything, the King's Guard here want your blood for wounding their King."

There was a short standoff, the three foes shifting slightly as they were ready to attack. One of the King's Guard moved first before the other followed and Sandor behind him. At that moment Geralt drew three throwing knives with his left hand, each blade fitting between delft fingers. With pin-point accuracy, he'd throw a knife at each man, aiming for the exposed opening at the shoulder joints of their armor, focusing on disrupting their charge. For the two King's Guard, they couldn't react quickly enough as the sharp blades pierces into the exposed spot, drawing pains cries as the metal cut into sensitive muscle.

Sandor though understood the Witcher better, turning his body just enough to have the thrown blade bounce off his heavily armored shoulder. He'd keep his shoulder up for a tackling charge, though Geralt dodged aside to avoid it. Both twisted as their blades struck against each other, the Witcher holding his own against Sandor's impressive strength and larger sword. Yet he'd quickly realize this was just a ploy to distract him as the other two men had recovered from the knife throws, both closing in quickly to surround Geralt.

"Oh no you don't!" The sudden roar of Thoros drew the two knights' attention before the Red Priest lunged in, blade striking down at one to force him to defend. "Come on fight me!" The men had little choice as the wild warrior lashed out aggressively, his near suicidal behavior unlike anything they had faced.

Geralt smirked, glad he had someone watching his back. From what he could just see the others were hurrying off the stage, Eddard being supported by his daughter and Beric. Meanwhile the other men protected them from any threats, be it from the rioting mob of commoners or the guards who struggled to capture them.

"Don't have time for you Hound…" He growled before he'd force away from their blade lock, turning about for a spinning slash which the large man guarded.

"You run now and I'll hunt you to the ends of the world Witcher!" He threatened back, lashing out with a heavy back hand which Geralt leaned back to avoid.

"We'll see." Blades clashed and spun around, the Witcher putting his incredible speed to use as he forced Sandor to use his reach and size to protect himself. He'd preformed a faint, making the Hound accidently slash out which left his defenses open, giving Geralt a chance to roll past him. "Thoros! The Bombs"

"Right!" The Red Priest kicked the one of the King's Guard back before drawing his own bomb, sparking it's fuse quickly before throwing it down at the same time as Geralt's. The bombs exploded loudly before smoke filled the air, drawing curses from Sandor as he'd swing wildly out, trying to get at Geralt or the Red Priest, both having leaped off the stone platform by then.

The two had their feet land on the back of two guards struggling with the mob, knocking the men down before they hurried off. By this point there was noise on the far end of the plaza, horns being blow as Lannister soldiers came in as reinforcements, already working on breaking up the mob of brawling commoners.

"Damn it…got here faster then I thought." Geralt muttered.

"Must be Tywin's doing. Bet he knew trouble may break out one way or another…though I doubt he expected us to come in." Thoros laughed. "Need to do this more often Witcher! I haven't had his much fun since the Greyjoy Rebellion!"

The Witcher simply shook his head, too tired and focused right now to jest back. Until Eddard and his daughters were safe, then he could do that.

…

For once Geralt realized just how confusing the maze-like alleys of King's Landing were as he'd sprint through them, barely having time to figure which direction to go next. Often, he had to yell out for Thoros and even slow down for the Red Priest to keep up.

"By the Fire…slow…slow down a bit…" The man gasped out, bracing one hand to a nearby wall to catch his breath.

"Tell that to the guards closing in on us. Besides we have to catch up with the main group and make sure their safe." Just as he said that, the familiar bang and whistle of a flare filled the air, making both look upward to see the sparking light being quite close. "They're close and in trouble. Break's over."

The Red Priest sighed as he watched the Witcher hurry off before shrugging aside his exhaustion to give chase. "Damn it! Can't let you steal all the glory!"

Geralt quick traced a path to where the flare had been over, his sharp ears soon picking up yells and the sounds of fighting nearby. Rounding a corner, he'd enter a large crossroads space, pretty much a public yard the commoners came here for cleaning. Right now, though it was crowded with a frantic skirmish between the Stark Loyalists and City Watch supported by Lannister troops. Eddard was in the center, yelling out orders to the men while he kept Sansa and much to Geralt's surprise, Arya as well. The young girl glanced about in a panic, the fighting around her far more brutal and chaotic then what she had witnesses before.

Geralt noticed Syrio close by the Stark family, facing off against two Watch guards he parried their attacks and dodge about, stabbing one man in the side then the other in the back with his sharp thin blade. Beric and his men were trying to clear a path southward, yet most were busy trying to keep the follow of attackers back who filed out from the other alleys. Smoke bombs were thrown as istractions, letting a few get a few lethal blows on the surprised soldiers, yet one by one a few of the Loyalists were being picked off as well. The lack of better armor and weapons with reach left them at a disadvantage.

"Let's even the odds." Thoros yelled out, the man grabbing a dropped shield among the fallen.

"Help keep the reinforcements back while I help clear an escape route!" Geralt ordered, the Red Priest nodding as he charged off, shield bashing a trio of soldiers, giving his fellow allies a chance to regroup.

Geralt moved over to the gathered Starks and Syrio, the duelist quickly seeing the stern look the Witcher had towards Arya. "I found the girl at the plaza mid-way through the trial. Seems she had slipped away from Davos watch soon after we left." Syrio explained, making Arya glance away slightly.

For a moment the Witcher wanted to snap out at her, but the look Eddard's gave showed he had already chastised his daughter for her recklessness. "At least she's safe." However, he'd suddenly hear the whisk of an arrow nearing them, twisting about to deflect it out of the air before it hit him. Looking up, he'd see soldiers on the lower roof tops, armed with bow or crossbows. Seeing one taking aim, Geralt drew his crossbow with his free hand and fired, striking the soldier in the chest before he fell to the ground with a cry. "We're not going to last with arrows and bolts coming down on us!"

More projectiles were fired into the group, Geralt working his blade back and forth as he blocked as many as he could. With practiced skill, he'd reload his crossbow, loading in more specialized bolts such as a split or small explosive bolt to take out a group of archers. The men who had shields raised them overhead to provide cover, while those without kept the ground forces back. Eddard kept low, keeping both daughters close to shield them, though his supporters made sure to provide cover for the lord.

"Damn we just need an opening!" Beric yelled out, kicking one of the guards back and dodging a thrusted spear, quickly snapping the shaft with a strong slash.

At this point there was only one choice left as Geralt moved to draw out a grapeshot. He hated the idea of using such a bomb in close quarters will his companions close by, but he had to risk it. "Retreat! If you value your life take cover!" It was a warning for both his allies and the soldiers, giving them a chance to spare themselves. He'd see a few of the soldiers yell out some warnings, recognizing the Witcher, yet a group seemed determined to press on the assault.

Lighting the bomb, he threw it at the choke point of the alley just as the last of the Loyalists hurried away. The soldiers must didn't back off even as the explosive rolled close, no doubt thinking it a harmless smoke bomb. However, the devastating explosion proved otherwise, drawing horrible screams as the men at the center of the blast were blown into pieces while those just far off were thrown aside. The force of the bomb cracked the nearby walls of the buildings making the alley, causing them to crumble to partly block the way.

"Arya…Sansa…don't look back there…" Geralt heard Eddard mutter, not wanting his girls to see the scattered body parts and splattered blood that bomb had created. Sansa whimpered, the girl no doubt in shock over all the violence she witnessed today. Arya did glance slightly at the gory carnage, a troubled fascination showing much like she had seeing Syrio fight back at the Red Keep.

"Gods…" Beric muttered, the sight shocking even to the experienced lord.

"No time to be battle shocked." Geralt warned, glancing up to see the archers had ducked away, worried of more bombs or exploding crossbow bolts. "Their scared off for now, but they'll be back any moment." He'd pause as he glanced around, debating on a new way forward. All the remaining alleys were no doubt guarded, leaving them cornered in this yard. Before he could speak up though, he heard a click behind him from one of the backdoors to one building. "Behind us!"

Most of the Loyalists turned to the door, weapons raised as it opened. A Lannister soldier stood behind it before suddenly dropping forward onto the ground. A confused look crossed Geralt's face before seeing someone else who had been standing behind the soldier, a gray cloaked figure stepping into view. Even before the hood was pulled back, Geralt recognized the man by just his tall and steady stance.

"Barristan?"

Indeed, the man revealed his face to show the old knight who'd give a small smile to the Witcher. A few of the Loyalists did keep their swords up, yet Geralt waved a hand quickly. "Stand down. He's not with the Lannister's anymore."

"Seems my dismissal reached even your ears Geralt." The knight chuckled.

"I'm sorry you lost your title and place with the King's Guard. Still without your help we would most likely be dead or in chains."

"It was my choice and one I don't regret doing." However, he'd stop as there were orders being shouted in the distance as the soldiers were regrouped for another attack. "Now is not the time for talk though." He'd gesture deeper into the house. "This way should get us around the soldiers. Hopefully we can slip away to the harbor."

"How did you know we were heading there?' Geralt questioned.

"It's the logical approach of escape. Again, save your questions for later."

The men seemed hesitant to follow along, though Thoros and Syrio were quick to follow.

"If there is one man I can fully trust it is Barristan." Beric spoke out, making small mutters of agreement follow up from his men. "Let's get moving!" Everyone began to file into the building, though Eddard and his daughters were let in first.

"Thank you, Barristan." Ned muttered respectfully, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder.

"Later Eddard. I have much to apologize for once we have time to speak."

Geralt soon followed along while Beric and his few men came in last, closing and barring the door behind them. Inside the house, the Witcher saw eight soldiers spread around the room, all of them unconscious. "Impressive work, even more without killing them."

"Death isn't a fair price for following their duty. Hopefully they will understand their mistakes."

The two older warriors followed the group through the small house, leaving the simple dining and kitchen space to a hallway leading to the front door of the building. Thoros was the first ahead, opening the door and peeking out onto the main street. "Seems to be clear." He muttered as he'd step out first, the rest of the group following along onto the street.

"We are a bit exposed out here, but we now have a clear route to the harbor. Hopefully we'll-" Barristan started before pausing as there was noise coming from the north end of the street, the stomping of boots of a nearing group of soldiers. "I spoke too soon."

"Keep moving! Whatever happens don't stop!" Geralt yelled out, knowing they'd need to be fast to reach the harbor. Already there were distant yells and horns being blown as the soldiers had noticed them. Glancing back, he could see the small army of men giving chase further down the street, crossbowmen among the ranks even taking distant shots.

"Idiots!" Beric cursed as one bolt flew close by. "Seems they don't care about possibly killing the Starks!"

"Or have a lack of orders." Barristan remarked before hearing the clack of hooves. "They got riders!"

There were only six of them, showing the soldiers hadn't had time to mobilize all their forces. They weren't true cavalry thankfully, just soldiers armed with long spears on unarmed horses. Still they'd easy run down the group and slow them down if they got ahead.

"If you have any bombs or flares left use them now!"

The remaining men fumbled for what they had left, throwing the smoke bombs back or blindly firing flares. All the noise startled the riders' mounts, halting their charge and even flinging one man off onto the street. The added smoke screen even provided cover, though a few bolts still flew by around them.

"There is the harbor…and Davos' ship!" Syrio yelled out, pointing it out to the others. Davos' ship was active, the crew busy getting the anchor read and sails out to leave. On the far side of the docks though were more soldiers, a group from the southern side of the city who had been alerted of the Loyalists escape.

"Damn it, these soldiers are everywhere!" Beric cursed as the reinforcements started shooting at the group, forcing the Loyalists with shields and Geralt to focus on shieldng the front of the group. Heading down the slopped street to the docks, a small force of soldiers was charging upward to clash with the group get in the way.

Geralt growled in frustration as three men rushed at him, yet a strong Aard flung them away yelling out in shock. His vision blurred intensely, making stumble as that weakness hit him with the feeling now nauseating as he'd gasped for breath. Despite the shock of seeing their companions get thrown aside, the remaining soldiers continued their charge only for Thoros, Syrio and most of the remaining Loyalists clashed with them. Beric held Eddard up to support him while Barristan guarded Sansa and Arya alongside two of Beric's men. The oldest daughter looked faint from all the running and violence around her, yet she kept going on when her sister held her hand tightly.

Despite most of the foot soldiers being held back, six were able to break away to chase after the Starks while archers farther back took were in position to give support fire. Already Beric and his two men turned to keep the foot soldiers back, forcing Barristan to support up Eddard and keep an eye on his daughters.

One of Beric's men didn't react enough to avoid a spear to the throat, yet his companion yelled out in rage as he gutted the soldier with his sword. It was short lived vengeance though as two of the soldiers closed in, stabbing the Loyalists from both sides. It gave time for Beric to cut down one of the soldiers, yet he was outnumbered by the remaining four. He'd pick up a dropped sword, taking a more defensive stance, though it was obvious the man was exhausted from all the running and fighting.

By the time Geralt had recovered from his moment of weakness, getting the energy to move once more. "Not yet…not when we're this close." Forcing himself onward, Geralt rushed past the main battle, sword spinning about as two men tried to stand in his way. In one flowing dodge, he'd cut off one soldier's hand while he swung out before ducking under the next blow to flank the other soldier, delivering a spine breaking slash across his back.

Nearing Beric, the Witcher drew out his weighted chain, spinning it rapidly with one hand before flinging it out at one of the soldiers. The man was just about to attack, yet soon found his arms bound up to his sides as the chain coiled around him.

"What the- GAHHH!"

One powerful yank and the man was pulled backwards off his feet, landing roughly onto his back. Before he could even struggle to get up, he'd get his nose broken with a strong stomp by Geralt's armored heel. The surprise attack gave Beric a chance to react as he'd swing both blades wide, catching one soldier off guard with slash across his chest while the other barely guarded himself. The other remaining soldier faced off against Geralt, fear hinting his face as Geralt whipped that chain loose from the unconscious man on the ground, holding the chain at his side with his sword forward. "Still want to do this?' He coldly threatened the man, though his attention focused to the other end of the docks.

A group of four soldiers had gone around the far end of the dock to block the way to Davos ship. Barristan had handed Eddard to his daughters while he drew his sword and a dagger, ready to face the men. He spoke something out, no doubt a warning though the men ignored it. Without pause, Barristan lunged in, dagger swinging out to parry one blade back before he'd turn about to avoid a jabbing spear which he snapped in half with his longsword.

The fight did distract Geralt for the soldier facing him to attack, yet the Witcher casually blocked his slash and kicked him back before whipping he chain at his arm, sharply cracking over the limb and disarming the man. Before he could draw a dagger, he'd get punched across the face with thin chain coiled over the Witcher's fist, knocking him out instantly.

Meanwhile for Barristan, two of the men moved to try and flank him, yet one got a sword hilt slammed into the side of the head, stunning him for a powerful kick that knocked him off the dock and into the water. The guard behind him tried to stab out, yet even with his back turned Barristan deflected the attack with his dagger, twisting the small weapon about to suddenly disarm the man. A knee to the gut had him staggered and soon pushed off the edge as well. The remaining two men paled seeing the old knight's chilling gaze, making him drop their weapons and run as he knew Barristan's famed skill was no joke.

Beric at this point finished his own opponent with a swift stab with both blades after breaking the soldier's guard. Geralt hurried over to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before Beric nodded. "I'm alright…just need a moment."

Barristan relaxed as he'd lower his sword and sheath his dagger before turning back to Eddard and his daughters. Geralt moved with Beric following close behind, though the Witcher noticed a surprise look cross the old knight's face while Ned gave out a pained gasp and shake under the support of his daughters. Sansa gave a terrible scream as her father slumped forward, revealing the arrow deep in his chest.

"Father no! Not now…not now!" Arya was pleading, trying to hold him up. Barristan was quick to support her father up as the girl's struggled, looking to at the Witcher and Beric with a serious look.

"He's still alive! Help me get him to the ship now!"

Berci was quick to hurry over, Geralt hanged back as he'd quickly glanced around to see where the arrow could have come from. His sharp eyes noticed a dark hooded figure armed with a black bow stand up from a warehouse roof a far distance away. Only his enchanted eyesight to have seen the shadowy assassin. Whoever they were must have noticed him or thought his job finished as they slipped out of sight on the far side of the roof.

"Damn it…it's happening all over again…" He muttered, turning to Eddard who was wheezing for air, still holding onto life as he was carried off to the ship. Beric and Barristan handed Ned off to the crewmen who carry him away to safety before the old knight hurried back to the daughters. Sansa was crying and sobbing, while Arya was biting back tears as both were hurried onto the ship by Barristan. Geralt glanced down the docks, seeing the rest of the Loyalists heading towards the ship. Thoros, Syrio along with a mix of wounded Stark and Beric soldiers. They had pushed the soldiers back for now but only have minutes before they regrouped.

There was no time for words as they'd get onto the ship which already creaked as it began to move away, dropping the gangplank behind them. Geralt glanced out at the docks, watching as the soldiers were gathering up what archers they had to take shots at them, with the ship already drifting out of reach. They had escaped…yet at a high cost.

"What happened?" Davos' voice snapped Geralt to attention, seeing the old sailor look to him with a confused look.

"Later…I need to see Eddard." The Witcher muttered, sheathing his bloodied blade at last.

"He's in my quarters. Geralt I-"

"Later. We'll talk later." Without a word, he'd march pass him and the others before they had a chance to speak. While chaos of their escape was over, there was still work to be done.

…

Geralt entered the captain's cabin, which was split into two separate rooms, an office for meeting with the crew and a bedroom for Davos to sleep in. Glancing at the floor he could see a trail of blood leading to the doorway of the bedroom, showing just how deep that arrow had sunk in. When he entered the next room, all the crewmen there turned to look at him, worried looks on their faces.

"Witcher…it's…it's not good." One of the sailors mentioned. "Seen my shares of injuries. Whatever that arrow is…it's not normal."

The Witcher was silent as he stepped closer to the bed bolted to the back center of the room, his attention set on Eddard laying in bed. His dirtied vest and shirt had been cut off him to reveal the extent of his injuries, bruises from beatings and of course the arrow still stunk within him. Just examining the puncture wound showed scrapping around the edges of it.

"Serrated and barbed arrow tip."

"Aye. Such weapons have been outlawed for their vicious injuries. Can't simply pull the arrow out without shredding his insides up. You'd need to cut it out…which is out of the question here. Only Maester with mastered medical skills to even have a chance."

"I know." Geralt moved closer, gripping the arrow shaft as he carefully snapped it off, drawing a pained low grunt from Eddard. The man's eyes opened to gaze up at the Witcher.

"Sansa…Arya…"

"They're safe, but shaken after all that has happened." The Witcher answered back calmly. "Just try not to talk. Arrow is in deep and I-"

"I…know…" Eddard's face twisted, a wheezing gasp escaping him before he'd cough, blood hinting his own spit. It was obvious by the look on his face that he knew this wasn't an injury he'd likely survive.

"Don't give me that look Ned. We've beaten the odds already, not letting this be the end of it." Looking to the sailors, he'd speak to them. "Get me Davos and Barristan. I need to talk to them as soon as possible."

The men gave sort ayes and yeses before they filed out of the room. Geralt sighed as he'd shrug his swords off his back along with his weapon belt. At that point exhaustion was creeping over him, the effects of over using his Signs taking their toll. Looking back at Eddard, the man was resting, breaths shallow as he was struggling to breath. He knew Eddard's didn't have a chance with a punctured lung, an injury that would kill him within the hour at the least. If he had all the rights tools and an experienced doctor like Shani he'd put some chance of survival, yet that wasn't possible.

"May not be able to save you, but I can ease the pain." Going to his pack, he'd pick out a few pain numbing herbs and quick work on mashing them up before mixing it with alcohol. It was a crude mix, yet enough to dull the pain for what time Eddard had left. Carefully tipping the drink to Ned, he'd gulp it down with some effort before grunting as the harsh taste kicked in.

"Ugh…foul stuff." He muttered, notably relaxing more as the drink settled in.

"You got an arrow in the chest and you complain about that?"

Ned only smirked weakly, trying to show some humor despite the grim situation before it faded as the door opened to have Barristan and Davos walk in. Both men had serious looks on their faces as they'd look to Eddard and then to the Witcher.

"I shouldn't have left my guard down." The old knight muttered as he'd walk closer to the bed, fists clenched tightly.

"There was nothing you or Geralt could do. No one could have expected this to happen, not when we were this close to escaping." Davos argued.

"Question is who planned this." Geralt muttered. "Plenty of people want Eddard dead…already have some theories who…though not sure why this way."

"Won't get any answers outside of King's Landing…" Barristan added before Davos spoke up.

"Nothing went as planned today. Despite what happened, we still saved Lord Stark's daughters and that victory for our side."

Geralt and Barristan were silent, unable to deny they had overcome some impossible challenges of late. Both though turned their gazes to Ned though as he gave a low breath.

"Enough of this…I understand your anger…but Davos is right. Save it…for later." He'd take a long pause before speaking again. "My daughters. I want…to speak to them one last time."

Davos gave a short nod. "I'll go get them from the guest quarters." He'd quickly turn to leave the room. Both Barristan and Geralt moved chairs from the other room over, setting them around the bed. Once they were all set, both men took a seat on one side of the bed. Looking across at the old knight, the Witcher gave a tired sigh.

"Shouldn't have played out like this." He muttered, hands brushing across his scruffy chin as he thought of the last stressful hours.

"Fate works in cruel ways. You and I have lived long enough to understand that." Barristan answered back calmly.

Geralt couldn't deny the truth of those words, since he had seen many times the just and innocent suffer while the evil and greedy succeeded. Often such people would fall, often after much suffering had happened before hand. Still he'd silently nod in agreement.

Moments later, the door opened again as Sansa and Arya hurrying in with Davos behind them. The two girls hurried beside the bed, each one holding one of their father's hands. Both the girls were teared eyed, though Sansa seemed moments from crying out while Arya kept them back.

"Father…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snuck out to see you."

Ned gripped Arya's hand tightly, looking to her with a steady gaze. "It's fine Arya. It's fine. I'm sorry…all of this happened."

"You'll be fine right? I mean…Geralt can fix you right?" Sansa questioned, glancing over to the Witcher with a pleading look, though it saddened seeing the look on his face. "Please, you can't die…not after all this!" She'd start to sob, bowing her head as tears trailed down her face.

"Sansa…don't cry…now isn't the time for tears."

The young girl struggled to keep back her sobs, yet she'd calm herself after a long moment. She'd nod, though her body trembled trying to stay composed.

"Right now, I'm happy…to know both of you our safe. I should have sent you home soon…keep you from being caught up in all of this." He'd have a fit of coughs, interrupting him as he'd struggle to catch his breath. "I didn't expect to live today…deep down I felt it…no matter the outcome." His eyes closed, relaxing for a moment before finishing. "If my life is the price…for your safety…then I accept it."

"Its not fair though!" Arya argued out. "You shouldn't die…it should be that Joffrey or…that witch Cersei!"

Ned just shook his head, understanding his youngest daughter's rage. "I know you hate them…many would. Yet keep those thoughts aside…don't let them blind you…to reason." He'd grip both of their hands tightly. "I love both of you…words I should have said far more often. Both of you are strong…in you own ways…strengths you'll need to look to in…the coming days."

"What strength? What do you mean?" Sansa questioned, doubtful about what she heard.

"You'll know…in time." Ned muttered, wheezing a weak breath as it was becoming harder to speak. "Promise me…both of you will protect each other. Put your differences…aside…support one of other…"

Both girls looked to each other, unsure looks hinting their eyes. However, both nodded as they'd look back at their father. "We promise." They both said at the same time.

A small smile crossed Eddard face. "Its nice…to hear you both agree for once. I'm proud." For a moment he'd blink his eyes, the man trying to hold back tears. "Now both of you…should go. Don't forget what I've told you…never forget it."

"Please…we can't leave you now!"

"You two have seen enough death today…I don't want your last memory of me to be this…" He'd take a deep breath. "Go…please. I have final matters to settle."

The two were hesitant, both seeming on edge to argue and plead, yet the warily look of their father had them be silent. Sansa nodded, leaning in to hug her father around his neck before kissing his cheek and whispering parting words before standing up, hurrying away out of the room. Arya hugged and kissed her father as well, yet was more hesitant leaving as she'd glance over to Geralt. The Witcher nodded to her, knowing very well the young girl would need guidance over this family loss. Once she left Geralt and Barristan approached Eddard's bed.

"Paper and quill…"

"Have some in my office." Davos remarked as he'd hurry to his office, getting a writing board, parchment and quill with ink. Already was having a sense of déjà vu for the Witcher, the scene nearly the same for the late King Robert. It was strange the two men, both divided by differing views, shared the same fates in the end. The sea captain though offered the items to Geralt, drawing a confused look from the Witcher.

"An…embarrassing problem Geralt. I'm not a literate man nor good with a quill. This is a matter better trusted to you."

It was an interesting fact to learn, yet it was understandable considering Davos humble beginnings. "Its fine. I can handle this." He'd take the writing board and sitting down in one of the chairs, giving a short nod to Ned.

"I…Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King…give my final will. Robb Stark…my rightful successor will take all my titles, duties and the ancestral sword Ice…to serve the people of the Seven Kingdoms. I ask of my wife…Lady Catelyn Stark…to wisely advise him…guide him in these troubling times, along side our trusted…household." With a short fit of coughing, he'd continue. "As loyal Hand of King Robert…I maintain my claim that Lord Stannis Baratheon…is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne…and true Protector of the Realm." Again, he'd be short of breath, laying back as sweat coated his skin from the effort of speaking.

"Think it is enough Lord Stark. We'll iron out the closing formalities later." Geralt quickly pointed out. Glancing to Davos, he'd hand the board and paper to him. "Keep this safe for later. For now, you'd best be on deck and leading the crew. Lannisters may very well get organizing their own ships to give chase."

"Right. We may have a lead, but we're still fair distance from Dragonstone." Taking the board, he'd hurry for the door out, yet stop to turn back to Ned. "Lord Stark…may the Seven and Old Gods bless you…goodbye." He'd move out the open door, head turned away to hide the saddened look in his eyes.

Barristan remained for a long moment, a troubled look showing on his face. "It was an honor to serve you Lord Stark. I wish I had done more when I had a chance." He'd give a small sigh and bow his head slightly. "I should go see to the men and speak to them. Gods speed Lord Stark." With that he'd too leave, closing the door behind him.

There was a long moment of silence as Geralt stared at the doorway, before drifting his gaze to Eddard. Everything seemed settled…almost everything. There was a few questioned that nagged at the Witcher's mind, a promise he remembered being told months back on the cold peak of the Wall. "Ned. Any last things to say? Personal words for me to tell your family?"

"Aye…Bran…I only wish I could have brought justice for…what happened to him. I hope that…fate will find a way to do so. For Rickon…I wish I had been with him more…put my duties as a father first." He'd take a shallow breath.

"What of Jon?"

The name had Eddard's eyes open slightly more, some spark of energy filling him. He remained silent though.

"Right now, you had the chance to legitimize him in your final will. He may be a member of the Night's Watch, yet it would be the right thing for him."

Ned remained silent; eyes unblinking as he stared down the Witcher.

"And you promised him…you promised to tell him about his mother, the truth of it all."

Still silence, enough to frustrate even Geralt.

"Damn it Ned, just give me a reason why! He's your son as much as the others."

"Yes…but this isn't something I can simply tell you."

"Why? Anyone else I can understand, but you know I don't favor any ambition for power or gain. I know there is more to Jon then you let on, that is certain."

Eddard clenched his teeth tight, a painful look showing on his face. "It was a matter meant for him to hear…only him. I cannot say…"

"Because of honor? Our sense of honor has only gotten us all into the mess we're in! Honor isn't going to mean anything for you in the next few minutes."

"It is my choice Geralt. I swore to protect Jon…and dying will ensure that." Again, he'd have a strong fit of coughs and gasps, worse than ever before. Blood was now being coughed up more thickly, showing how bad the internal bleeding was now.

"No! Don't you dare die on me now Ned!" Geralt grasped one hand to steady the Lord's struggling, the man going into shock as his body was giving out. "You owe Jon an answer!"

Eddard's gaze met the Witcher's for a pained moment, look of true sadness and pain showing. It was an old pain though, one that had festered for decades and one that no one, not even Geralt had sensed. Whatever the truth about Jon was something much bigger and more dangerous then he thought.

"Not…the father…"

Anyone else wouldn't have heard these muttered words, but the Witcher's ears did as the slipped from Ned's lips.

"Not the father…"

Again, the words were muttered as Eddard slumped back, eyes closing as his wound and exhaustion was too great. Geralt felt the man's heart slow and flutter under his palm until it at last came to a stop. "Not the father…not Jon's father? Then who?" He'd step away from Eddard before tugging a sheet over the man, feeling right now conflicted over the last minutes spent with him. Instead of answers he had been given more questions. "Why Ned…what made you so stubborn about Jon?"

He'd gaze back at the bed for a long moment before sighing, head bowing as he'd turn to leave. He had to inform everyone of Lord Stark passing. It was no doubt going to be a long and mournful night.

…

Hours had passed as the remaining Loyalists had settled on board, the injured resting and being treated. Thoros and Beric had been badly wounded. The two were tougher than most and no doubt recover in time. The Red Priest of course demanded half a keg for himself, feeling he needed to drink in Ned's honor. It was a request no one argued against. Syrio had been keeping to himself ever since learned of Eddard's passing, perhaps feeling some guilt over not being able to protect him. The duelist had a strange sense of honor despite only serving Lord Stark as a teacher for his daughter, perhaps just a tradition he learned in Braavos.

By now the ship was far out into the vast Blackwater Bay, nightfall having at last come. There had been no signs of any ships giving chase. Everyone however remained on guard the whole time for any surprises. Davos said it take a few days to reach Dragonstone even with full sail, hopefully they'd have a speedy journey.

With everyone busy or resting, Geralt remained on edge even with the weak feeling his body had. Having picked out a stray bottle of rum for himself, he'd find a quiet spot on the ship deck and lean against the side gazing out at the dark waves around the ship. Taking a deep drink from his bottle, he'd glance at his left hand before looking to a nearby lantern that had gone out from the wind.

Flexing his fingers for an Igni, nothing happened, so he'd try again and again. The lantern remained dark. "Nothing…either I'm that tired…or the Source is truly dead for me…"

"Oh…not quite dead yet."

Geralt glanced to his right at the familiar voice of Gaunter O'Dimm, the merchant busy tightening up some ropes at the nearby mast. The Witcher was silent, an annoyed look showing on his face as he'd take another drink.

"Go away Gaunter. Not in the mood."

The trader sighed as he'd finish with the ropes, brushing his hands together before pacing over to stand beside the Witcher. "Surprised you aren't questioning how I'm even here."

The Witcher shrugged, seeming not to care for the moment.

"I'm here simply to help Geralt. As I said before I want you to succeed in this world…to give it the change it needs for the conflicts ahead."

His cat like eyes glanced coldly to Gaunter. "So, Ned's death was required? Excuse me if I find that to be bullshit."

The merchant sighed, yet kept that small smile. "You think too simply Witcher. Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon were always doomed from the start. Their fates were decided decades past. However, you changed the fates of many this day, from the people on this ship and those cowering in King's Landing."

"Changed how exactly?"

Suddenly Gaunter's index finger jabbed at the Witcher's forehead, a sharp pain snapping through his skull. "It is better that I show you." For a moment Geralt saw the man's more horrible form, a split second much like the time at the Crossroads. His vision changed though from the ship, rapid images flashing by of people he knew from his world.

He saw Arya dirtied and alone, suffering countless hardships and trials. There was too much to take in, yet he saw moment of her being a servant for Tywin in a ruined castle, traveling with Sandor and then training within a gray unknown temple. It then showed her within a godswood, Dragonfang in hand as a pale hand was strangling her. Lastly it showed her surrounded by fire and rumble, in a city facing complete ruin.

Next was Sansa. He'd see tempting in the throne room, dress ripped while surrounded by a crowd before it changed to her standing beside Littlefinger in a strange room with a strange opening that lead to open sky. Next showed her in a bed chamber with an unknown man, a man he sensed foul cruelty from as he'd reach out to caress her trembling cheek. Lastly, the vision shifting to her standing at the walls of Winterfell, dressed grandly as a hardening young noblewoman.

More visions followed as it showed Geralt's companions. He'd see Thoros dead from a mauling, laying on a rocky island on a frozen lake surrounding by the clawing dead.

Syrio laid dead in the training hall, Trant looming over the slain duelist with a bloodied blade.

Barristan laid dead in some shadowed alley, surrounding by a dozen corpses of masked men with knives.

Beric appeared as a scarred man, having seemingly doubled in age, wearing crude leather eyepatch over one eye. It then shift to show his bleeding body laying in a hall full of corpses, a calm expression on his face despite his wounds.

At that point the visions ended sharply, making Geralt drop down onto his hands and knees as his mind was reeling from what he saw. "So much…too much." He gasped before looking up to Gaunter, the man simply smiling down on him. "I can…barely remember it all…"

"Knowledge is a dangerous thing Geralt. To have you keep so much would be unhealth even for you." The merchant casually explained. "I can see all possible outcomes in everyone, the many futures that life offers. Yet now all their paths have changed far beyond anything I've ever seen in all my travels."

By now Geralt pulled himself onto his feet, bracing against the side of the ship. "Why does anyone else interest you? Is this just all some…play or show to you?"

Gaunter didn't answer, only giving that annoying smile of his. "All that aside Geralt, there is more pressing matters to discuss. Tonight, is a very special one after all." He'd point up into the eastward sky, drawing Geralt's attention to something he had over looked. In the starry sky was red streak, a red comet unlike anything he had ever seen before. "A new age is coming. All the pieces have fallen into place for an awakening on this stagnant world."

Geralt felt a strange feeling as he looked at the comet, sensing a strong power from it. Indeed, he'd feel his medallion rattle on it's chain, the most intense it had been since visiting the Wall. Yet this growing power wasn't solely coming from the comet, but from something far to the east. The nerves in his body had a sparking tingling going though it, the feeling much like when he mediated at a source of power. While the intensity was low at first, it was becoming stronger and stronger with each passing moment. "What…what is this?"

"This closest thing this isolated world will have to a Conjunction. The weak ember of Source is relighting at long last." Gaunter simply explained even as Geralt started to gasp out for breath, his body trembling as growing power was becoming too much for handle. "Ah yes…the sensation is a bit too intense for someone like you. Don't worry it won't kill you, though I'm curious how your body will handle this change."

By this point Geralt fell onto the deck, body shaking violently as his senses were overloading. Unlike others he could see the magical changes around him, color seemingly filling his surroundings even in the dark night and every scent in the air from the salty sea water and aged wood seemed twice as strong. His heart was beating faster as his adaptive body was trying to compensate the rush of power, making it feel like the organ was about to burst. Yet gazing up to the sky he saw something else streak through the sky like a falling star guided down into the eastward horizon.

"Ciri…"

And then everything went dark for Geralt, the last things he heard was Gaunter call out for help and the hurried steps of others nearing him.

…

 **Notice: Sorry for the long delay on this chapter rewrite. Been busy with work, sickness and personal matters. Also for those who don't know, Fan Raman has released their podcast episode featuring the Fury of the Melee chapter. Its fully voice acted, has sound effects and music at times, being pretty much an audiobook. So look them up on Youtube, Soundcloud or Itunes.**


	24. S1-E23 Epilogue: and Darkness

**Season 1 - Epilogue: …and Darkness**

 **Forward: Again, special thanks to Rainsfere for his help editing and proof reading this chapter. Also, the chapters will have a small title rework to be listed as 'episodes' and 'seasons' to avoid confusion and to better separate storyline events.**

 **The Night of Eddard's Passing – The Red Keep  
The Lannister Family Meeting**

Tywin sat at the head seat of the Small Council table, his sharp gaze looking over his two sons and daughter. They had been sitting there for half an hour, not a single word being said the whole moment as he stared sternly to them all, mainly Cersei. The large windows of the room were open to let air in, though with it came the distant clamor of the city, muffled yells and chants filling the air as smaller riots or parties were being thrown in the streets.

Jaime sat on the far-right side, still in his King's Guard armor which was dirtied and dented after the chaos of the day. His face had some scrapes from being flung off the stage by Geralt's magical trick. He was lucky to have suffered nothing major between his short clash with the Witcher and dealing with the riot that had broken out. The young knight had a deep look in his eyes, gazing at the map of Westeros that was spread across the table, seeming lost in his thoughts.

Tyrion sat in a seat on the mid-right, one finger trancing the rim of his wine goblet. Everyone else had a drink in front of them, though no one had bothered to so much as take a sip. The dwarf's gaze drifted between each of his family members, though lingered on his father and sister the most often.

Cersei sat at the far end of the table, facing directly at her father. She was still in her regal clothes, though her hair ruffled up since the trial and her light make up marred by tears. For the moment she was calm, though everyone could sense the boiling rage she had. Tyrion and Jaime never had seen her this angered before, making them both curious yet worried.

"So?" Her voice was low as she spoke that one word, cold and demanding in tone. Those eyes of her were like daggers towards her father, yet the older man didn't show a hint of concern.

"So, what?" He calmly questioned back.

The woman's jaw clenched tightly, struggling to keep composed. "What news of the traitors…the scum who slighted us today?"

Tywin didn't answer, only keeping that stern gaze on her.

"Answer me damn you!" She snapped out, standing quickly from her seat in frustration.

"Sit…down."

The chilling command had Cersei's angered look break, a life time of disciplining overriding it as she'd slowly sit down. Yet once she did, that sharp glare returned to her eyes once more.

"Any more outburst like that and I will have you leave." He calmly spoke, voice clear and commanding. "After what happened today, I'm doubting if you should even remain in the court, much less King's Landing."

Cersei, tapped her fingers against the table, biting back any harsh words for now.

"I will at least answer your first question. Geralt and his companions are gone, escaped by ship owned by a lesser lord and trader named Davos Seaworth. Both of the Stark daughters and Lord Eddard are gone, though reports claim Eddard was mortally wounded by an unknown archer from what the reports say."

The news of Lord Stark's injury drew surprised looks from Jaime and Tyrion, both glancing up as they snapped to full attention. Cersei remained passive, though a hint of amusement hinted the corner of her lips.

"Interesting. It wasn't one of our own soldiers somehow?" Tyrion questioned. "Considering with Robert's assassination, it seems someone is targeting the nobility from all sides."

Tywin glanced to his youngest son, eyes narrowing before he'd nod. "It is something I have considered. While Robert had his issues, he kept stability to the realm and was easing control to us over time. However, his passing was too sudden…and Joffrey's claim to the throne too swift."

"I thought you'd be pleased with a Lannister on the Iron Throne? What of all your talk of legacy and power?" Cersei calmly questioned.

"Because today showed your son lacks the skill and temperament to be King." Tywin bluntly answered.

Cersei bite her lower lip, gaze glancing to the table as she quickly thought to herself. "He is still young-"

"Obviously." Her father muttered.

"-and will improve under my guidance and discipline."

"Then you've already failed as a mother considering what happened today." He'd stand up from his seat, pacing over to the window while Cersei clenched her hands tightly together in anger. Jaime looked to her, noting a hint of blood showing at her palms.

Tyrion at this point decided it was time to speak up more. "For once I agree with father on this. Your actions over the last few weeks have been…rash and more erratic than usual. Perhaps Geralt and Lord Stark were getting close to something that worried you."

"Silence you…" She hissed to the dwarf.

"Your brother again has a point." Tywin remarked calmly. "Repeatedly you've been hostile about the Witcher, drawing his attention and suspicion towards you."

"Doesn't the fact that Tyrion's friendly relations with our enemy bother you at the slightest?!" She countered, trying to deflect on the matter.

"Because I understood his usefulness unlike you." Tyrion answered back. "Not only did he save my life during my travels, he has been forward with me on many private matters. Despite what you may think of him, he is indeed honest and honorable to a flawed degree."

"Honesty and honor…" She'd mutter under her breath. "He hurt my son…broke his hand while you stood aside to let him!"

Tywin didn't turn to look to her, only staring out at the city below the Red Keep. "What did you expect me to do? Fight him? Your brother knows very well what he's capable of…especially now."

Cersei's gaze drifted to Jaime, the young knight looking back at her. Her angry expression softened seeing the serious look on his face, an expression she rarely saw. "Geralt is someone we've underestimated time and again. In subterfuge he is cunning. His swordsmanship masterful. Battle tactics are logical yet adaptive." He listed off in a calm calculating manner. "Even when we had him outnumbered and surrounded, he still beat us through his hidden allies and skills we couldn't expect."

"You mean his sorcery…illusion…whatever you may call it."

"Yes." Jaime simply answered, face still passive.

"Doesn't that trouble you? If he had such power all along he surely cheated with it during-"

"No." Her brother snapped sharply back, surprising her. "Our duel at the Melee was nothing but marital skill! The times when he did used those abilities…even I'd admittedly use considering."

Cersei looked baffled at Jaime's answer. "You can't be serious?! He humiliated you directly multiple times…he wounded your…your King!" She nearly stumbled with her words mentioning her son, showing how shaken she was with her emotions. Again, she looked to Tywin and spoke directly to him. "You simply stepped aside let that monster harm him!"

Tyrion sighed from where he sat, annoyed as the arguing was continuing. "Enough! I enjoy seeing your whine sister yet for once I have no stomach for this." The dwarf earned a bitter look from her, tough Jaime placed a hand on her arm to keep her from snapping back. "So, let's end this unending banter. Father, it's time you get to the point of this meeting, otherwise you waste all our time."

Both his siblings were surprised at the direct manner shown, a rare thing Tyrion showed towards his spiteful father. Even the old lord glanced back, a curious look hinting his eyes as he saw the serious look on the dwarf's face. "These are troubling days indeed…for once your speaking reasonably."

"Guess you can say I've matured over the last few months, with a little nudge from Geralt himself." He'd glance over to Cersei. "Despite what you may think, he openly preferred everyone's safety, your dear children included." His gaze returned to his father. "Now then…to the point."

There was a long pause as Tywin paced before the window, nodding out to the city. "Because of today, chaos has taken hold of the city. Old loyalties to Robert, respect to Eddard and adoration of the Witcher. These views and more will spread, especially now our claim to the throne is questioned by the nobility and commoners."

"Heh…the commoners? What does their opinion matter?" Cersei questioned.

"It may be twenty years since the Targaryen reign, yet the pains and suffering during that time remain. The reason why people accepted Robert despite his poor rulership was he kept the peace…while Joffrey on his first official day decided to execute a Northern lord just like the Mad King did on a whim." He'd let that fact settle in, Jaime having a deep look being reminded of those troubled times. "How do you think the people will think of us when another war comes down onto them once more?"

Cersei "That…wasn't planned. He was to be exiled as stated."

"Advice you no doubt shared with you son and expected him to obey?"

She didn't answer back, only glancing away from her father's accusing gaze. "Yet surely the Witcher planned to-"

"Intervene? You know he too expected exile, otherwise his rescue attempt wouldn't have been so disorganized. You saw how his allies were slow to react. In the end Joffrey's actions provoked him. His real target was the girl."

"Sansa?" Jaime muttered, thinking for a moment before nodding. "It makes sense. Saving Eddard only furthers his 'guilt'…while taking his daughter from us deprives us of a political hostage over the Starks."

"Logical deduction. Indeed, he was no doubt planning to steal her away after the trial more discreetly. He'd no doubt succeeded and have escaped before we were ever alerted."

"So, what is the point stating this?" Cersai muttered.

Tywin turned fully about to face his family. "Simple. We're at a disadvantage. Conflict is inevitable if Lord Stark is dead and we have no one to bargain with the rest of his family. We all know the other Lords of the North nor Eddard's eldest son won't take this offense lightly…history has shown that repeatedly." Pausing, he'd continue. "Also with doubt on our claim to the Iron Throne, Robert's brothers will most likely contest for it as well."

"Curious…you believe Renly and Stannis will challenge each other?" Tyrion questioned.

"Renly is a young visionary. While inexperienced he is popular and knows how to deal with the other nobility. Stannis may be officially declared the rightful heir, yet he's always been a quiet and stern individual. He's a dead set conservative with a black and white view on right and wrong. Overall the two have clashing views, it is natural they will seek the same power."

"So…enemies to the north..." Jaime picked up a wolf piece, setting it at Winterfell. "…east…" He'd set one stag piece to Dragonstone. "…and the south." The other stag piece on Storm End. "Seems we're going to have a war on many fronts."

"Stannis will no doubt be the most prepared. He has had suspicions ever since Jon's Arryn's death and his position on the Small Council gives him influence of the navy. If he builds a strong enough army, we may very well face invasion by sea."

"Yet I take you have a plan in mind?" Tyrion remarked.

"Indeed." Tywin grabbed more board pieces, four lion figures. He'd place two to the Riverlands, then on at the King's Wood and on King's Landing. "We can prepare beforehand. Renly will need time to gather from his supporters, same with the Starks in the North. Our forces and allies will be able to assemble, letting us take defensive ground between our enemies."

"A defense? Surely we could simply rush our forces against the North or south to Storm's End." Cersei argued.

Jaime shook his head. "No, father is right. Renly may be closer, yet Storm's End would be difficult to take even if he has a small force defending it. As for the North it is simply too far into enemy territory. Even if we suppressed the Northerners, we'll be too overextended to support King's Landing or the King's Wood from the Baratheons."

"Well put. It seems you learned well in tactical studies." Tywin simply complimented. "Your brother is right. A war of aggression will leave us exposed unless we earn more allies to bolster us. We'll need to make quick alliances with unlikely groups to ensure our survival."

"Which I'm certain you well be negotiating in." Cersei coyly added.

"Yes…as King Regent."

A surprised look blinked crossed everyone's faces, yet Cersei had the most startled. "Surely…you are mistaken father. Joffrey has already been crowned…coronated before the whole court."

"Indeed."

There was a tense pause as Cersei stood up from her seat, pacing around the other end of the table. "So how can you take claim of that role?"

"I've already stated his obvious flaws for why he shouldn't actively lead. Before you concern yourself of the public or nobility worrying about him, they will understand. Considering the injuries inflicted during the trial and matters of his safety, it is reasonable for them to understand my…temporary position while he recovers and is better educated of his duties."

Cersei's hands clenched, annoyance showing in her eyes though she'd bow her head slightly. "Surely he can take some role-"

"And what? Threaten potential allies and small folk with his childish manners. No…we don't have the luxury to have him play King or you to puppeteer him."

"But-"

"Be thankful I'm not sending you away to Casterly Rock. Right now, you still have your uses among the court, so do not test my patience any further." With that warning given, he'd look to Jaime. "Our forces will need generals and leaders for what is to come. It is time you put all you training to full use…no more being a glorified bodyguard."

Jaime did not respond, only giving a small sideward glance to his distraught sister, before nodding to his father in silent agreement.

"Good…then there is nothing more to discuss tonight. You are dismissed."

Jaime moved out of his seat, yet Cersei remained where she stood as she spoke up again. "Permit me…one final question father."

Tywin didn't answer, only giving a curt nod to her to speak.

"What about Geralt the Witcher? How do you plan to deal with him?"

The old lord simply gave a small smirk back to her. "That is something you shouldn't concern yourself over."

His daughter glanced at the table, seeming annoyed with the lack of a clear answer. In the end, she'd stand up to leave with Jaime following suit before Tyrion hopped off his seat to leave as well.

"Not you. There are a few more things we need to speak over."

The dwarf paused from his father's remark and for a moment Cersei did as well at the door out, before she'd slip away with an annoyed look hinted toward her younger brother.

With a small sigh and shrug, Tyrion returned to his seat and was already refilling his goblet again. "So, what special assignment do you have for me this time?" His tone was sarcastic as he remembered well of his 'duties' in managing Casterly Rock's sewer system, a job that he despised yet had done very successfully.

The old lord stared at his son tensely, not seeming humored by his tone. "I know we have little care for each other Tyrion, yet of late you have shown…promise." He muttered. "Reliability is a trait we need this day, a trait many in this Keep lack."

"A trait I assume you see in me."

"At times…" There was a long pause. "I am loath to offer this, yet choices are slim. I need you to serve as the King's Hand."

The dwarf nearly gagged on his wine, just swallowing the drink down and taking a breath. A baffled look showed on his face as he stared at his father and then at his goblet. "Either I…misheard or…" He'd shake his head. "…No, you are dead serious…"

"Don't give me reason to doubt."

"I'm trying not to." Tyrion rubbed one hand over his chin, deep in thought, unsure if this wasn't some ploy or trick. "Let's say I do accept…"

…

Within the throne room, Jaime and Cersei had slipped into a shadowed corner of the hall, the woman pressed up close to her brother. Her lips were at his neck kissing at a bruise, yet despite the affectionate show Jaime turned his head away from her.

"Cersei…"

She'd move onto his cheek, brushing over the long scar left by from his duel with the Witcher. "Its not fair. That brute…hurting you…our son…"

"Stop…"

Yet she'd shift to kiss over his lips silencing him, pressing up more as twisted passion drove her on. Jaime accepted it for a long moment, yet pulled back in the end with a short sigh. His eyes had a conflicted mix of emotions of them, doubt being the strongest within him. It was something Cersei noticed which concerned her as she'd brush her brother's lovely golden hair.

"I know what happened at the trial was-"

"It was pure chaos and something we could have avoided."

She'd frown softly. "Please let's not focus on this. We've argued too much on the matter." Delicate fingers caressed his scarred cheek. "Right now, we need to focus on the future. You know very well who threatens us the most."

"The Witcher, at least from your point of view. For me it's hard to say considering we have a map littered with foes." His tone was sharp with her. "You can claim he could kill us, yet if he wanted that we'd have died in the throne room a week back or on that stage today. If he wanted to expose us he would have told our father at many opportune moments, yet he didn't."

Listing these facts off, he felt Cersei's hand drift lower down his face, cupping his sharp chin as he kept their gazes locked. "He must have a reason." She muttered, nearly hissing the world in that faint voice. "All part of some scheme or some twisted…"

"No." Jaimie's sudden words stopped her silent ranting. "He knows everything about us. The children…the tower and what I did to the young Stark. Even then he didn't want to fight…yet figure a fair course for everyone."

"And you believed what he said?"

There was a long tense pause as he looked at her, part of him understand the warning the Witcher had given about his sister. It was strange how he never noticed this side of her…or perhaps he did yet simply ignore it for so long. He loved and trusted her deeply, despite how their intimacy was wrong in so many ways. Right now, he had to learn the truth from her on one of Geralt's claims.

"Lancel…what is it between him and you?"

The sudden mention of the younger Lannister cousin drew a hint of surprise in her bright eyes, yet she did well to hide it. "What do you mean? He's simply a squire and-"

"One chance." Both of his hands were at her sides, holding her gently yet pleading. "One chance to tell me the truth." The words echoed so closely to what the Witcher had said in this very same chamber.

Cersei's lips parted as if to speak, yet the words seemed lost to her as she stared back at him. Right then…things were never going to be the same for the brother and sister…never the same.

…

 **Red Keep - Lord Baelish Chambers  
To Deal with a Shadow**

Petyr drew his door key from his vest and quickly unlocked the way. A small smirk hinted his face, having been keeping a close eye on the rapid new and spreading rumors throughout the capital. Overall everything was going as planned…in fact better then expected. He had only wished he had been at the 'trial' to see it all break out as people claimed, though he had known better with Geralt about. He was certain if he had been on that stage, he'd be very well dead for his betrayal.

Entering his lavish room, he'd move to close the door behind him and lock it again before pacing across the room. Loosening the mocking jay pin on his chest before moving to the jewelry box at the dresser. Yet as he'd carefully place his items aside, he'd pause as he'd hear something odd, the soft creak behind him. Like most rooms in the Red Keep, his room had a balcony area though he had made sure his had doors for security reasons. Moving closer, he'd see that the lock had been picked and the bolt forced open. Already his blood chilled as he felt a cold gaze at his back, making him tense on reaction and even drift to his Dragon Fang hidden at the back right of his hip.

"Don't move."

The voice was cold and low spoken, carrying such deadly intent even for saying only a few words. Littlefinger recognized who it was, yet that didn't ease the growing worry he felt.

"This is a bit…unexpected." He calmly spoke back, not turning around to face the intruder. He could hear the man shifting about behind him, soft boots patting along and a cloak lightly dragging over the floor.

"Why didn't you warn me before hand?"

"Warn you?"

"Don't play dumb with me 'Littlefinger'." The man lowly growled. "You suspected that brat would turn that trial into an execution. I question why you bothered hiring me…unless it was to annoy me and waste my time."

A long pause followed before Petry spoke. "I had my suspicions about the boy's intent. Many expected Eddard exiled, you included."

"I don't like surprises like this. You're lucky I kept to the deal despite having to chase Lord Stark over half the city and take quite the difficult shot to end him."

"Yet you succeeded yes? While his death is far less public then the city gates as we discussed, Eddard's passing will spread across the Seven Kingdoms." He'd pause. "You are certain he's dead."

"Yes."

Usually Baelish would question such a simple answer, yet the serious tone from the assassin was enough proof. His head shifted to glance back slightly, catching sight of the man's dark leather armor. "I guess that is a foolish question to ask. After all you are a Grim. Your group's reputation is unmatched.

The assassin didn't remark back, though Petyr could tell the man wasn't amused by the offered praise.

"Anyway, it is time to get the final half of your payment."

"Double."

"What?"

"My payment is to be doubled because of the complications."

Petyr paused, a small scowl hinting his face with the new demand. However, he knew arguing wouldn't be the best for his own health. "Very well. Let me just gather it up." He'd slowly turn about as he moved to the other side of the room, the assassin making sure to stay fully out of sight, never fully seeing the man. When they had met before it had been in the dark building within the city, yet it showed the man valued secrecy. Also, it was a good defense tactic keeping a target's back to you.

Moving to one of the paintings in the room, he removed to reveal a hidden safe which he'd quickly unlock, making sure the Grim didn't see how he worked the many intricate locks. Within the container, he'd pick out heavy pouches of gold. It was close to year of total earnings from his many business fronts in King's Landing. going to be bothersome paying twice as much, yet he didn't wish to double cross someone as deadly as a Grim.

"Put the money on the table."

Baelish followed the instructions, moving to the nearby table and placing the pouches of gold onto it.

"Now move back and turn away."

Again, he obeyed, moving over to the nearby liquor cabinet which he'd start to open. He'd hear the man give an annoyed mutter, obviously not trusting the noble, yet he didn't try to stop Petyr from getting glasses and wine out. The sound of coins being shifted could be heard as the Grim did a quick check, wanting to make sure the total seemed right at a glance.

"It is all in order despite your extra cost." Petyr assured.

"It best be." The Grim muttered. "I'd rather not make a return visit." While the tone was calm, Littlefinger couldn't help but shiver at how cold those words were.

"Would you like a drink at the least? A small celebration for-"

"And choke on wolfsbane like your late King? Don't test me as a fool Littlefinger. Killing you be too simple…yet the threat of your 'gift' bring quite the stir for the people. I wonder what they'd do to you if they knew just what you did to their fat yet loveable King."

Light sweat hinted his face as the assassin words brought more fear then any knife at his back. What baffled him was how this man knew…unless he was bluffing?

A small chuckle could be heard before the Grim gathered up his payment and shifted towards the balcony doorway. "We'll let you and the others play your petty game of thrones. Just don't be surprised when chaos comes, it will be a pit that swallow you whole." With that there was silence.

For a long moment Baelish didn't move before turning to look towards the balcony, finding it completely empty. His heart still raced as he'd pace slowly to the table to see the wine and glasses down before filling one. "Was risky to hire him." He muttered to himself with a small smirk as he kept his gaze set on the starry night outside, eyes set on the faint red streak in the sky. "Yet that is the thing…if you do not take the risks you gain nothing." Taking a deep sip from is glass before setting it down. "Chaos isn't a pit…but a ladder…one that I will climb to the top before all others."

…

Peering eyes stared through a hidden opening in one of the chamber walls, watching as Petyr enjoyed the last of his glass of wine. He couldn't help but be troubled by the noble's obsessed ambition, yet also inspired at the same time. None of the less, his suspensions on the Master of Coin were true.

"How much madness will you bring down on us Littlefinger?"

The voice whispered before slipping away from the wall, moving towards a low burning touch set behind him. Carefully he picked it up, avoiding his yellow robes from touching the lit end. Varys held it up as he'd slip deeper into the maze of hidden passages to return to his own chambers. There was much work to be done…all for the good of the realm.

…

 **The Riverlands – High Heart  
The Dark Rebirth**

Weavess breathed deeply, tasting the growing magic all around her. The feeling was wonderful, being exactly like the Black Sabbath so many months ago, yet the potency far stronger on this 'sacred' hill. The hunched hag had crafted finer clothes for herself, materials taken by the dead villagers and traders. The humans she had enslaved had dug a deep pit to the very roots of circle Weirwood tree stumps, tapping into the dormant power within them. The pit was flooded with murky gory red water, bits of dead villagers hinting under the surface.

"The time is neigh! The new age dawns…the reawakening of the magic!" She growled out gleefully as she stared high into the sky, which was thick with clouds drawn by the power forming on this hill. Even though the starry sky was obscured by the black clouds, the red glow of the comet was still clear overhead.

"I draw from the wandering flame of chaos, the purest of power!" Her long lanky arms waved overhead, clawed fingers twisting and turning in intricate motions.

The pool began to bubble as if a deep heat in the warm began to cook below, making the thick smell of death and decay well up into the air.

"I draw the life of this world! Untapped by the ages!" The red water began to glow, red trailing sparks leaping and coursing through the pool.

The hag walked closer to the pool edge, taking out a large brew bottle from her tattered robes. While he lacked the cooking skills of Brewess, she had all the talent needed to make this special elixir, a mix of rare toxic herbs and her own life blood. "With my blood, the shared blood of our mother, let it give you form once more."

She'd pour the thick liquid into the pool, the mixture sinking into the dark depths of the pit before it dissolved away. Weavess began to chat out in an echoing language, a tongue never heard by this isolated world. Back in her home world this form of speak was as old as existence itself and not fit for moral ears to hear…or minds to comprehend. The sky crackled with energy as the clouds above churned into a thunderous storm, though no rain fell as lightening boomed across the sky. Such power would have required all the hags to create such a fierce storm, yet Weavess felt twice as strong as time passed this night.

Soon her inhuman chant came to an end as she'd raise both hands upward. "Arise my sisters! Let this world be the womb of your rebirth…AND LIVE AGAIN!"

From the sky a massive lightning bolt striked directly into the pool, the final spark needed to complete the ritual. The glow in the pool died down and a deafening silence followed as the thunder suddenly stopped. Soon a drop fell from above, then another and another as rain began to pour down until it was a downpour. Weavess stood completely still, waiting even as the rain soaked her horrific form. Then the water shifted as if something underneath it moved. Then suddenly two long-fingered hands grasped the earthen edge of the pool, drawing a lanky figure from the depths. Close by, a pair massive fat hands reached for the shore, pulling a bare obese form from the murky waters.

Weavess beamed as she saw her sisters crawled onto the shore, heaving and gasping as they took their first breaths. The rain washed their grotesque naked forms of the gore and filthy water from the pool, as the two struggled for a moment to stand.

"Slowly my sisters. Take the time needed to rest and recover. The air is strong with power…it will fill your very being soon. She'd turn to pick up clothes set aside, new clothes for her sisters, styled like before yet much like her own clothes made of finer cloth. She'd lay each set of clothes by each sister, as the two began to recover.

Whispess gave a deep grunt and spat out thick slime from her mouth before she'd speak out in a wispy voice, grabbing at the red vailed headdress to cover her inhuman face. "My mind is…foggy. I remember the Sabath…yes…the girl…and her blade biting at my heart!" She'd growl out those last few words.

Brewess groaned at the pained memory. "Oh, that pain! The chilling feeling…and the darkness unlike the blackest night." She'd bellow as she'd fit her wicker basket mask over her face along with her cloth shawl across her head and bulky shoulders.

"Indeed, the Child of Destiny killed you both. How perfect this reunion would be if we had her at our mercy." Weavess muttered.

"How long have we been gone? Also, what is this place?" Whispess stood up as she fixed her dress over herself, head tilting as if listening to something. "The crows speak differently to me…and the annoying muttering of ravens echo around."

"Another Conjunction happened in our world, the time of the White Frost had come. I saw it as a chance to escape the world's death…yet didn't expect it take me here."

Brewess glanced broadly about the surroundings, noting the Weirwood tree and the many white stumps surrounding them. "The earth here is old. We're not the first to have lived here…and…" She'd glance farther north. "Do you feel it? The creeping chill and that muttering."

"Indeed sister! I know it well…the same whispers that followed the Wild Hunt." Whispess glanced northward as well, silent as she'd 'listen'. "The White Frost began on this world. It's been kept back…repelled…yet this time it will consume and reach beyond."

Weavess was curious of this new fact, considering she had sensed a strange building power as well. "What do you purpose sister?"

"It is a threat to us now that we're stuck on this world. We must face it or be destroyed with everything else."

"Such as task…yet…" Brewess had fat hands clenching together. "I feel mightier than ever before, not since the days when we took Mother's power."

"Then we will begin anew in this world. For too long we kept ourselves isolated in Velen, too comfortable with ruling weak superstitious peasants." Whispess paced about, arms wide as he basked in the falling rain. "Imagine the lords who we could… 'advise'. With our wisdom and powers, we'll have them enthralled to our will."

"And if they resist and challenge us…hehehe…how can they hurt us? With no Witchers or mages, they have no understanding of our powers or the means to fight us." Brewess added.

However, Weavess spoke up. "No…there is still a threat to us." Both of her sisters looked to her curiously. "The White Wolf followed the girl to this world. He does not know of us yet and is tangled in the games of the humans…though once he learns of us he'll act quickly."

"Then we'll be ready for him and show no mercy!" Whispess growled.

"Now I wonder…what of the Child of Destiny? If we had her flesh and blood…" Brewess muttered.

Weavess realized what her older sister was meaning. "The power to defeat the Frost. Yes…it makes us truly immortal and invincible."

"Make us true goddesses." Whispess chuckled before her youngest sister held up a silver wolf medallion. "I see you have something close to the girl. A useful item."

"It will let us scry her once preparations are made."

"Yes…" Suddenly Whispess paused, head glancing to the north east. "It seems we have guests coming. Curious and foolish men from what I sense."

"Mgh…young, strong and handsome?" Brewess cooed, her flabby body swaying at the thought.

"Keep your desires in check sister. We can't let these humans learn of our new home and warn others. Surprise is our strength."

The three hags turned and began to march into the dense woodlands that surrounded the hill, giggling and chuckling in sadistic glee.

…

Hadrian Rivers pulled his cloak hood up to keep the rain out of his face and soaking his long black hair further, the young man wishing he had cut it if he knew he'd be traveling in such a downpour. The cloth and leather clothes at least kept him warm, even though the layered material was becoming more soaked over his lanky form.

Lord Tytos Blackwood, Hadrian's father and ruler of Raventree Hall, had organized the group after reports came in of abandoned villages being discovered. Most were small and quite isolated, nothing too out of place considering how vast the Riverlands were. At first it seemed just a community or two had simply left, yet soon half a dozen was discovered recently. Tytos had advised his son's group to check High Heart because of the strange sightings on that hill and being the center of all the abandoned villages.

He'd shrug his bow back onto his shoulder and shaking his back to empty the water collecting into the quiver on his back, though he doubted his arrows fly straight in such severe weather. Everyone struggled to keep their lanterns dried, not wanting to stumble in the woods and mud in complete darkness. He'd glance at his other companions, hardy men from Raventree Hall who had volunteer for this mission with Ser Cordin at the lead. He was one of Tytro's best knights and was a dutiful teacher to the young Hadrian.

Hadrian quickening his pace to catch up, he'd speak up to Cordin. "We need to stop! Its already dark and this rain isn't dying down any time soon!"

The knight glanced over at the young man, giving a small frown. "We're nearly to the hill though! If there is trouble lurking about, I'd rather not wait for morning for it to slip away or surprise us."

The young man grumbled, biting back words of argument for now. It was risky to travel in these conditions, considering the men could easily get sick from the rain and chilly air. After a moment he kept the urge to speak up again, yet stopped when he heard something odd in the air. "Everyone stop!"

The sudden order made the other men come to a halt, though Cordin gave an odd look towards him. "What's the matter?"

"Don't you hear that?"

Everyone was silent, trying to listen through the pattering rainfall.

"If you mean the rain…yes I hear plenty of that."

"No, it was a voice giggling out! Like a woman's yet…wrong."

"Just hearing things lad." Yet as soon as the knight said that, there was a sudden laughter about them, an eerily sound. Cordin tensed, one hand going for his long sword while the other men gripped their own weapons nervously. "Then again…maybe not."

"Oh? Is the knight scared of little us?" One warped womanly voice chuckled out, echoing among the trees.

"The storm has them quaking in fear already, considering how they shake in their boots." Another voice cackled.

"Mhh…the young one though. So good and innocent. I'd make him quite the man yes…" Another slyly laughed.

Cordin was on guard, glancing at his men who were glancing about nervously with their weapons out. Hadrian fumbled with his bow, unnerved by the unseen voice speaking about him. "Form up! Get into a defensive circle!" Everyone obeyed the knight's command, trusting his skill and leadership. Hadrian was beside Cordin as the knight raised up his sword and shield, sharp eyes glancing about.

"What in the Hells is going on…" The young man muttered.

"I don't know…and that is what worries me." Cordin whispered back.

"You should be worried."

Suddenly the men behind them screamed out in terror. "Gods the ground! Its moves!" Roots and rotting plant life ripped up from the earth, grasping out at their legs and coiling upward. Those who didn't struggle free quickly gave pained cries as the tendrils coiled up their legs then around their chests and necks before being snapped by twigs.

Before anyone could react, there was a sudden shadowy figure that lunged out from the woods. The darkness made it hard for Hadrian to see, yet at a glance it seemed like an old woman though mutilated and sickly in appearance. The man closest to her yelled out in shock before her hand shoved right into his stomach, followed the slick sound of his guts being ripped out of him.

"Kill it! Kill it!"

The men scrambled to attack the crone who laughed out, blades and clubs swinging out at her. Despite her hunched stance, she moved inhumanly fast to avoid any blow, though let a sword strike at her only for it to snap like it was a twig.

"So rude to strike a woman!" The creature jested before she disappeared in a raging flock of black birds, the swarm passing through three men who howled as their faces were pecked and clawed at viciously.

Hadrian stood there in pure shock, trembling as he watched the bloody carnage before him. He had seen his share of violence and injuries, yet this was unlike anything he had seen. Suddenly there was a heavy stomp from the woods, making him turn about and draw his bow to fire blindly into the dense trees. However, the stomping continues as a large grotesque form came into view. It looked like a woman, yet fat and warty with a sagging heavy bust that it's simple clothes barely covered. Just the sight of it made the young man gag as he nearly puked at the grotesque sight. His arrow stuck out at it's face, having pierced the wicker basket the creature wore as a mask.

"That was rude of you my dear." The creature murmured, the same one that had slyly spoke of him moments ago. She'd grasp the arrow and pull it out before tossing it aside. "Yet I'm a forgiving woman. Come half-lord…let me embrace you!"

The creature moved closer, large meaty arms wide to grab at the petrified Hadrian who tried to back away. "Oh, gods please no!"

"Back you monster!" Despite the creature's foul appearance and the chaos around him, Cordin remained steadfast as he'd bash his shield at the creature. While she seemed surprised at the attack, her fatty form absorbed the blow and all it did was stall her for a moment. "You'll have to kill me before you lay a foul finger on him!"

"So noble of you! If you wish my love first…then I'll gladly give it to you!" The crone giggled as she'd swing a club like hand at the knight. Even with his strong stance, the man was forced back as his shield was crushed in one blow. Despite the creature's fleshy look, it's skin was like stone as the man stared at the warped metal.

"RUN HADRIAN! GET BACK TO THE HALL! WARN THEM!" He'd lash his sword at the giant of a woman, yet she'd casually catch his blade with one hand before yanking it away with ease. Even unarmed Cordin fought, an armored fist punching out at the creature's flabby stomach, yet he'd cry out as he broke his hand against the monster. "RUN!" He yelled out through the pain.

The young man backed away more, stammering to find words as the knight was grabbed by the creature who giggled out in glee. He'd watch Cordin struggle and curse, trying to pry free before getting smothered by disgusting flesh. The creature didn't stop as her arms began to tighten around him, metal plate buckling under her inhuman strength, drawing horrid cries as the knight's spine was being crushed.

At that point Hadrian ran, dropping his bow and rushing out into the dark woods as quickly as his feet would allow him. The horrible sounds of the slaughter faded behind him, yet the Crones laughter followed. His hands pressed at his ears to try and shut them out, trying to focus on escaping from them. He'd just kept running even as his lungs heaved for air and legs stumbled across the muddy ground, yet he pressed on despite the gawking exhaustion. He lost all sense of direction, going only on the base instinct of survival and Cordin's last desperate words.

…

"Should we chase the boy?" Weavess muttered as the group glanced out into the woods, the ground littered with the slain men…or what bits remained.

"Just one boy. You think anyone will believe him about what he saw?" Brewess answered back casually, heavy arms still cradling the crushed knight as if he was a toy. "Besides it be a waste to kill such a fine lad so early in youth!"

"Bah! Has your desire made you soft for the human?" Weavess argued.

Whispess hissed out to interrupt their bickering. "Enough! The boy isn't worth chasing. Let the woods claim him in his panic. For now, we have flesh and blood to work with." She'd lip up a dead man's arm, lifting his limp body from the ground. "We have much work ahead of us sisters. From now on we take the title as the Oracles of High Heart. The foolish humans will beg for our wisdom and power…long before realizing their folly!"

The trio laughed and cackled into the night, their inhuman voices echoing far and wide. To many their voices would blend into the storm overhead, yet all who heard it would feel terrible dread creep through them.

…

 **The Riverlands - Near the King's Road at the Green Fork**

"Do you hear something…strange out there?" Ogatto muttered, the Dothraki pausing from cleaning his Arakh, his one dull white eye glancing up at the alchemist across from him. The two had made camp earlier that night, having found a small yet suitable cave to settle in, just before the storm had suddenly arrived.

For a moment, the dark-skinned warrior would examine his exotic weapon in the light of the campfire. For one it was made of finer steel, showing it was custom foraged, which explained the intricate designs on the blade's sickle depicting rearing horse on one side and script of words in Dothraki on the other. The weapon also was longer in size to be nearly the length of a long sword and added more reach to the curved blade. The fine leather grip was bigger too, making it easier to hold with both ends. However instead of a simple pommel, there was a blunted spike at the end which extended out by half a foot.

"Just the wind." Zarin muttered, keeping his attention set on the portable alchemy kit as he worked on some simple concoctions for his work. "Not scared of a little thunder, are you?"

"Heh…if you could have seen the storms that ravish the Dothraki Sea and Red Wastes. Rain is rare in those parts, yet when it came it brought down quite the fury." He'd pause a more thunder rumbled in the distance. "But this storm isn't right…feels unnatural…" One hand moved to brush his long black hair back nervously. He lacked a braid normally worn by his people, a sign of some dishonor happening to him for having it removed.

"That is just your superstition speaking." The alchemist dismissed with a wave of one hand.

The Dothraki shrugged as he'd polish the blade of his weapon a bit more. "You still haven't told me about what you have planned for us in the Riverlands." He'd ask. "I have noticed how you've been writing up letters and dropping them off at very town and inn we've passed by to messengers. Trying to contact the others?"

Zarin gave a short nod as he'd carefully stir around a small vial of deep green fluid. "Indeed. They should all be within the region. Will be only a matter of time before they get one of my messages or news from the capital will reach them. They'll know where to go."

"Do you think one of the other Grims did it, killed Robert for us?"

"Doubtful. Not enough time to contact one of them. I also doubt the Shadow or Snake were in King's Landing at the time." He'd cap the vial he had stirred before shaking it, the mixture during a deep red now.

"So, who do you think did it? I doubt it was Lord Stark or the Witcher as the rumors said."

"No. It was someone in court…maybe Cersei did it or someone else. Plenty of individuals have something to gain from the fat bastard's death." Setting the vial aside, he'd sigh as he'd pull his alchemist cap back to scratch his short black hair. "Overall though this is the right time for us. North and the South will war, giving us ample space to follow up on…well…MY plans."

"You are called the Grim of Schemes after all, I'd be surprised if you didn't have something set up." Ogatto chuckled out. "One of your plans wouldn't involve our newest member?"

"You'll know once we get to the meeting place." Zarin simply remarked before he'd pull the stopper off his new potion before drinking it down. The old man shivered and gave a small grunt as the mixture seemed to taste foul, yet after a moment his body relaxed. "Yes…the formula seems good by now." He'd flex one of his hands and nod.

"You rely on your elixirs too much friend."

"When you get to my age, you'll understand." The alchemist chuckled as he'd get up from where he sat and stand before the fire. His step seemed stronger and he stood more straight instead of his usual hunch posture. His blue eyes stared into the flames, a smug grin crossing his face. "This is the right time. It's time we break the cycle of these so-called Lords and Kings, bring a new change to the Seven Kingdoms."

"That is if that Witcher doesn't complicate things again." The Dothraki warned.

The older man shrugged. "A fair point. He is an…unexpected variable, yet one that can further my life's work." He'd pause as he'd pace about the campfire. "He will have his uses for what is to come. Beyond that we will prepare…learn all of his strengths and weakness before dealing with him. There will be no mistakes like before." He'd chuckle as he felt such a thrill at the thought, eager to see the mutant at his mercy. "Then we, the Grims, will be truly unstoppable!"

…

 **The North - Winterfell**

Robb stared down at the letters laid out on top of the desk, the young man's brow narrowed as he compared them both. He was in his father's office, having just received shocking news from raven from the capital.

"It's not true…" He muttered, glancing up at Ludwin who stood by attentively. The old Maester had a grim look on his face, knowing well the conflicting thoughts the eldest son of Eddard felt.

"I don't believe as well." The old man remarked back. "Lord Eddard murdering the King…his friend." He'd shake his head.

"His trial was today if the letter is true." Robb paused for a long moment. "We won't know for a week at least."

"He will most likely be stripped of his titles and exiled to The Wall."

"'Most likely'. There is still a chance of otherwise." The young man calmly pointed out. "Even so the letter claims my sisters are under the Lannister's protection…but there is one detail missing."

Ludwin had a curious look as Robb offered the letter to him, the old man rereading it quickly. "There is no mention of the Witcher. He isn't stated to be dead or captured."

"Indeed. Either they overlooked that detail or…"

"He's still active." The Maester thought for a moment. "There is much uncertainty right now. Information is limited by others and distance. We have to be careful."

"Yet I can't be silent. The other Lords of the North will get this news, they will demand action."

"Whatever the case…you are the Warden of the North now no matter what happens to your father."

Robb bowed his head low, silent in thought. Right now, he wished he had others to advise him. "Send ravens out to all of the Lords of the North. Tell them to come to Winterfell for council within a week's time. By then we will get word of my father's fate…and if the outcome is the worse feared…" He'd pause as he'd clench his fists tightly. "…then we march for war."

Ludwin nodded, a solemn look on his face as he'd gather up paper, ink and quill to begin writing out the many messages. The old man wished Robb didn't have to make such a difficult choice. He had seen too much conflict in his long life and wished the young Stark wouldn't have to see the horrors of war.

…

 **The North – The Wall – Castle Black**

Jon read over the letter Geralt had sent once more, having received it days before the news of his father's arrest had arrived at the isolated fortress. Already there was talk going on throughout the fort, with Allister Thorne being the first to taunt him of being the son of a traitor. It took much effort to stop himself from lashing out, yet he stuck to Geralt's advise.

The Witcher had followed his promise to get aid for Castle Black as supplies for new weapons, building materials, food and new light siege weaponry were being delivered. Even a few Northern builders and soldiers had come to help with duties around the fort. From what the men discussed, between Robert's order and the growing Wildling sighting, the Northern Lords had enough reason to send such aid. However, with the new of Eddard being arrested, there was talk that most of these men would leave for the possibility of conflict in the South.

Indeed, the last few months had been busy for him. He had built up a good following with most of the recruits as he took an active role in training, having been given a role as assistant instructor during sparring lessons. Thorne loathed it, yet the Lord Commander didn't deny the results that were showing among the newcomers.

After Jon and the other recruits had been inducted as members of the Night's Watch, they had discovered bodies of Uncle Benjin's ranger party who had left months back. They had taken the corpses back, something which had worried Jon to no end after what happened with the last few bodies brought in. Secretly he and his closest friends kept an eye on the medical room on their free time, until one night the corpses had suddenly disappeared. It had been a close call in protecting Mormont from one of the creatures, yet now the Lord Commander couldn't deny something unnatural was afoot.

For a moment, Jon moved one hand down to the sword at his hip, Longclaw with a new wolf headed pommel to it. When Mormont had gifted the Valyrian blade to him, he felt conflicted yet understood why he was given the sword. It was like what Geralt had said, Mormont saw his potential and gratitude for his actions against the second Wight attack.

Yet now the group was preparing for an expedition beyond the wall within a few weeks to find clues about his uncle and the growing movements of the Wildlings. However, Jon felt there was more to Mormont's plans, perhaps seeking clues on whatever was causing the dead to rise again as well.

"White Walkers…can a myth truly be doing this?"

Yet muttering the man made the wind pick up, making him shiver even with his thick cloak and clothes on. He'd glance out into the blackness of harsh lands beyond The Wall. Slowly he moved closer to the edge of grand structure, eyes narrowing as he tried to see what was out in the vast darkness.

"Just the darkness staring back at me." He sighed, relaxing as he'd move away after a moment.

"Jon! Jon!"

Snow turned to look down the icy passage to see Sam hurrying over to him. His larger friend had lost a bit of weight because of the base food and constant work around the castle, yet he was still quite chubby much to Jon's surprise.

"You alright? I mean…I understand you must feel bad about your father…yet that doesn't mean you have to stand off on your own."

Jon folded Geralt's letter into one of his pockets before giving a small smile back to his friend. "Just have a lot of my mind. So much has happened in these last few months, it's a bit hard to take in."

Sam nodded as he'd move closer to stand beside him. "I get that. Between your uncle disappearing and the…claims against your father…be hard not to feel worried for them."

"Aye." Jon paused in thought. "Part of me wants to leave. Go back to Winterfell and help my brother with the coming crisis."

"Yet you trust in everyone else to face those challenges?"

The insightful remark had Jon glance over and nod. "Geralt I know will do everything he can for my father and sisters while Robb will step up to be a strong leader in Winterfell. For me, I'm best suited here for whatever we face beyond The Wall.'

There was a long moment of silence as both stared out into the dark lands in the distance.

"I'm scared you know, having to go out there."

"Why is that? You have your brothers to watch over you and you've gotten a bit handier with a sword."

"Heh…personally I prefer the crossbow." Sam chuckled. "Its just the fact we'll be walking out into the unknown. Of course, the Wildlings are fearsome but…after seeing one of wights and…the growing storms…there is just something wrong out there. Unnatural."

"Its our job to face the unknown isn't it?" Jon answered back. "Wildlings…the walking dead…have to keep it all back for the good of the Kingdoms."

"I know that but…can we?"

The question was a haunting one, something that made Jon silent as he'd grip the pommel of Longclaw. In truth he had no answers and he doubt anyone else in the world did either.

…

 **Essos – The Red Wastes**

Ser Jorah squinted at the high sun above him before staring out at the vast wasteland before him. Even with the sun so bright, his trained eyes could see the red streak in the sky, the Red Comet which had appeared the night before. The group had been following it ever since dawn, going east through the Red Wastes on the order of their new Khalessi. The disgraced knight knew just how dangerous this wasteland was, since even the Golden Company made sure they were well supplied for marching across it. It take a miracle to cross the region without major losses, considering the group had few horses and low supplies.

Then again, a miracle had happened last night. He'd glance back to the rest of the group, the few khalasar and three young warriors of Khal Drogo who were now Bloodriders to their new queen. Among the crowd of wanderers was a young beautiful girl, Daenerys Targaryen, the last of the great House of the Targaryens.

Among the copper skinned Dothraki she stood clearly out. With her pale skin, long silver-gold hair and beautiful violet eyes, she looked exactly as the tales described the Valyrian people. She was dressed in the same simple garb her handmaidens wore, plain brown cloth and leather which showed off her slender figure. However, around her form were scaly shapes that at a glance seemed to be serpents, yet up close revealed they were in fact small winged reptiles...dragons. The young Khaleesi held one of the new born in her arms while one had curled around her waist almost like a belt and the last sat on top of her shoulder.

Jorah still couldn't believe the creatures were real, though last night overall felt like something out of a legend. One of the greatest Khal's had died in disgrace and Daenerys had lost her only child who had been destined for greatness in his life. Whether it had been the cruel hand of fate or the dark powers of that shaman, the young woman had lost everyone dear to her. The funeral that happened last night was meant to be the end of her. It pained Jorah to have seen her walk so calmly into the burning pyre of her husband, all while the witch howled her last as she burned. Yet in the morning, he was shocked to see she had been untouched by the flames and had her three dragons curled around her.

"Times are changing…" He muttered to himself before he heard hooves behind him as the new Bloodriders approached him.

"Any idea where we are Jorah?" One of the young men questioned in Dothraki. "We need to find water soon, considering our supply is low to begin with."

"I know…" He muttered back. "If we had a landmark like a ruined city or natural structure we could get a better idea of our location. Though this part of the Red Wastes is completely barren and vast. I doubt we'll find many resources in these parts."

One of the Bloodriders nodded. "At the least we are far away from the other Khal's territory. I'm beginning to understand why the Khalessi wishes us to follow the Red Comet."

"Safe path or not, we'll slowly perish without water." The last Rider muttered.

"Heh…perhaps it will fall from the sky." Jorah chuckled, trying to give some humor to the grim discussion though the Dothraki didn't show any amusement with the remark.

Suddenly though there was a resounding bang much like a lightening bolt, followed by a short flash of light from above. The three horses of the Bloodriders panicked for a moment before the Riders calmed the beasts, while the group behind them screamed out in terror. Jorah cursed out in surprise as he quickly tried to find the source of the boom, thinking it was a distant storm beyond one of the surrounding mountain ranges.

"There! By the spirits what…the sky it's splitting?!" One of the Bloodriders yelled, pointing up to the sky.

Indeed, the air seemed to warp and tremble before ripping apart for a white void to be revealed. Another echoing boom and flash followed, making everyone shield their eyes from the intense light. Then suddenly there was an intense chill…a cold that Jorah hadn't felt in a long time.

An icy gush of wind and the caress of snow touched his wrinkled face, the feeling making him gasp in surprise. When he opened his eyes, he'd see before him a large patch of snow, frosted rocks and uprooted pine trees. It was as if someone had scooped up a piece of the wooded North and dropped it before them. One hand was at his sword as he'd look about the cold surroundings, giving a sigh as the lingering cool air relaxed his warm body. The Bloodriders kept back, confused and nervous over what they saw before them. One of the young Riders tasted some of the snow off one of his hands before lapping it up as it melted into water.

"What is this?" The Rider muttered in amazement.

"Snow…something that shouldn't be here." Jorah calmly stated. "Go the others and tell them to gather every waterskin and container they have to collect the snow. This is going to quickly melt, so we can't let such a boon slip by!"

The Riders nodded as they'd hurry back to the party who were moving slowly forward, cautious over what they had just witnessed. Daenerys was stepping forward though, seeming more curious then fearful like her subjects.

Jorah moved further into the snow-covered area, glancing over at the fallen trees nearby. Nearing the end of one, he'd crouch down to see that the tree hadn't been uprooted by cut away smoothly at the base. "No weapon could do this…" He muttered before hearing something, a low pained groan nearby. Standing up, he'd look about the icy rocks and other toppled trees until he heard the groan again.

Soon he'd see a figure laying on the snowy ground, a woman dressed in furs and leathers, yet it wasn't of any design he knew from the North. What was most striking about her though was her appearance…it almost was a splitting image of Daenerys, having the same pale skin and silvery white hair. There were differences though, such as the fact she was older, had a more fit toned figure, along with having a healed scar that started at the left side of her head and arched along the cheek just below her eye. There were more recent injuries though, her winter clothes being ripped by what he recognized as blade cuts. In her right hand she held a beautiful blade, a finely crafted weapon that seemed to rival a Valyrian blade.

As he'd move closer and crouch down, the girl muttered something before turning her head to look at him. Her eyes opened weakly, revealing her gaze to be an emerald-green color. With her head turned he'd see an odd hand print at her throat, yet it was created by light frostbite across her skin. In fact, the minor cuts she had along her body had hints of frostbite as well, a strange detail to her injuries.

"Who…who are you?" She muttered, exhaustion hinting her voice. Her accent was unfamiliar, sounding nothing from Westeros or Essos. "Where am I…I…the Frost! I have to-" Sudden energy showed in her eyes as she'd struggle to get up, yet cry out as she'd grasp at her right side.

"Be still. You're more injured then you look." Jorah quickly remarked as one hand pressed at her right shoulder. "My name is Jorah Mormont. I'm not sure what happened to you, but you appeared in a flash of light and a swirl of snow."

"Light…snow?" The woman muttered, eyes closing as she'd try to remember. "That thing…it grabbed me…felt it draining my life and power away…I panicked…jumped to escape it."

Everything she was muttering seemed disorganized and confused since nothing made sense to the knight. "Relax. Whatever attacked you isn't here." He'd get a piece of cloth out to wipe the melting snow off her brow. "What is your name?"

"I'm…Ciri…just Ciri…" The woman answered back before turning her head to see someone approaching. She'd see Daenerys stand over her before shifting down to kneel, the sight of the girl drawing a surprised look from Ciri. "You…you look like…me?" She muttered in confusion.

"I was about to say the same thing." Dany's voice was soft towards Ciri, before the one dragon in her arms stirred, giving a small screech as it eyed the ashen haired woman.

"Is that a…dragon?" Ciri questioned, yet she'd groan again in pain as she'd start to lose focus. "Who are you?"

"My name Daenerys Targaryen. Titles can be shared another time." One hand moved to touch Ciri's scarred cheek, the touch oddly relaxing to the young woman. "Rest Ciri…by my honor as Khalessi you will be safe under my care."

Ciri struggled to speak, wanting to argue and explain why she couldn't sleep now. Her mind was still fresh of her battle with that horned creature and the last moments she had shared with Geralt a world away. Yet exhaustion took hold, her eyes closing with the last sight being of the kind face of Daenerys and the baby dragon in her arms.

…

 **Notice: Has been quite a long time coming! Ciri has returned and now a new age of conflict begins! Season 2 will offer plenty of twists and turns. New enemies now lurk in the shadows, shocking alliances will be made and the world of Westeros will never be the same. There will be much work ahead, yet I will push the limit to offering speedy chapter releases and quality writing.**

 **I have one special piece of news to share though. I've started a page, for those wishing to offer more support. THIS WILL NOT CHANGE THE RELEASE TIME OR QUALITY OF MY WRITING. Supporting is simply a form of donation which I will deeply value, even if it is simply one dollar. I do work full time after all and live at home still, so every bit of support means much for me. My will be active soon, so check out for Drake Cross on the website or follow the link on my blog.**

 **Again, I deeply thank all my readers. See you all with season two comes around, though keep an eye out for another series I'll be releasing soon. My only hint is that it's time for a clash of hunters to happen…**


	25. S2-E1: Red Sands and Black Isle

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Red Sands and Black Isle**

…

 **Ciri – The Red Wastes**

"We should have left her!"

"You're saying we should let this die?!"

"Women don't fall from the sky or bring this…snow as you call it!"

"You do understand it has given us ample water for the whole Khalasar? We now may stand a chance in crossing the Red Wastes!"

Ciri grumbled as she'd hear the two male voices argue, one deeper toned and familiar while the other younger and foreign. Slowly her senses were coming to her, feeling the warm dry air across her skin and a worn bedroll at her back. She'd quickly realize that her furred collared coat, light leathers and cloth shirt were gone. All she had covering herself was just the linen wrapping around her chest, leather pants and her boots.

"Ugh…what is…going on?" Already a rush of adrenaline started kicking in as a flurry of situations filled her mind. She'd tug her right hand which was at her side, only to feel something holding it in place. Half-closed eyes looked to see a rope around her wrist, the bond staked into dry earth to keep her from escaping. "Why am I…bound up?" Already she'd tug, strength quickly returning to her body.

"Please be still Ciri."

Quickly she'd glance about until she saw the familiar face of that man who had found her, Jorah from what she could remember. His skin was tanned, short hair sun-bleached brown and face creased from being outdoors. His clothes were simple and practical, fitting for the hot climate they seemed to be in, though it showed the man's muscular build more openly. There was a ruggedness about him that reminded Ciri of Geralt, though his hazel eyes shared a friendly nature.

"She should be tied up…." A man behind Jorah muttered. His appearance reminded Ciri of one of the people Zerrikanian, considering his copper colored skin and braided black hair. His clothes were much more tribal when compared to Jorah, being a mix of brown furs and patched leathers. He had an odd sickle shaped sword in hand, obviously on guard because of her. "She must be a witch of some kind…"

Looking about, she'd notice she was in a crude tent, pieced together with worn cloth, leather and scrap wood. The ground was dry and rocky, colored light red like faded blood. Already she had a feeling she was in the complete opposite wasteland then the one she had just been battling in.

"Last I checked we didn't have any Valyrians left in Westeros, much less Essos. Remember your Khaleesi swore by her family name that she'd protect this woman." The gruff man remarked as he'd quickly free Ciri's arm. The tribal man muttered in a foreign tongue before lowering his weapon after that stern remark.

The name Valyrian sounded odd to Ciri, considering the two seemed to think she was one…whatever that was. She'd rub her wrist before shifting up to sit up on the bedroll, though wince out as she felt such tense soreness at her stomach. Glancing down she'd see bandages wrapped around, noting a few fresh scars hinting under them. "Best not move too much, you've been passed out for an entire day. You seemed to have been in quite the battle and from what I can tell you've had quite a rough life considering the scars you already bare."

Ciri was silent for a moment as again she'd think back over what happened. She'd remember her final goodbye with Geralt at the Tower on Undvik at the Isles of Skellige. Then she had stepped through the portal to a frozen wasteland, the source of the White Frost before encountering a…creature. The details were vague only that it was human like, had skin like living ice and horns in the shape of a crown. Whatever it was it was old…older than even the Crones of Crookback Bog who had captured her at one time.

"Ciri?" Jorah's voice snapped her to attention, the man having a concerned look on his face. "I know you must be confused…if anything I'm just as baffled considering how we found you."

"I take my arrival was…dramatic?"

"If you mean with the sound of thunder as the sky split and a gust of winter, yes, quite dramatic." He said with a small smirk and shrug, trying to seem casual despite the grand description.

Ciri couldn't help but chuckle, for a moment her worry about the White Frost fading. "I guess I have some explaining to do. Not sure though how much you'll believe it."

"Considering what I've witnessed in the last few days, you'd might think otherwise." Jorah's gaze did drift a bit before realizing how he stared at her. "I…ah…we should get your clothes back. We've done the best we can for your injuries, though you seem far tougher than you look considering the scars you already have." He'd moved to grab her shirt which was hanging on a wooden post, tossing it over to her.

She'd catch it with ease, showing her reflexes and coordination was recovering well before tugging the clothing over her head. "Destiny hasn't been kind for me that's for sure."

"Then you'll fit right in with us outcasts and ill-fated." A fair female voice spoke out at the flap of the makeshift tent, revealing it to be the silver-golden haired girl who had soothed Ciri to sleep. She remembered the name of this girl, Daenerys Targaryen. It was a bit unsettling how similar she looked to Ciri many years back, though she seemed fairer in appearance and unscarred in comparison. Though she could sense a deep pain about her, wounds that were deeper than any weapon could deal.

"Lady Daenerys-"

"She is Khaleesi, Sky Woman! You will speak only her proper title!" The tribal warrior snapped out, yet before he could say more Daenerys raised a hand to silence him.

"There is no need for that Rakharo." She calmly spoke to him. "I'm certain Ciri is only following the formalities she knows, considering she doesn't know of the Dothraki traditions." Moving closer, she'd shift down to sit beside the ashen haired woman. "Besides her strange arrival has ensured our survival in these lands. The water we've gathered from the snow may just last our trek through the Red Wastes." Her head bowed respectfully which Jorah and Rakharo did in turn, though the tribal warrior was a bit more hesitant.

There was some confusion hinting Ciri's eyes before she remembered bringing a piece of the frozen wasteland she had been fighting in. Quickly she'd understand the gratitude, which was a bit embarrassing considering this was all because of desperation.

"I…Thank you but if anything, I should be thanking you. You took me in despite your own struggles and cared for me with what little you had." Ciri now bowed her head in thanks to them.

"Then we are even then." The Khaleesi chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Perhaps it's time we introduce ourselves properly. Both of us no doubt has many questions about each other."

Already Ciri knew where this was leading to with her hosts wanting to learn more about her. Avallac'h had warned her to avoid revealing too much about herself, mainly the fact of her Elder Blood and its seemingly limitless power. Such power had attracted individuals like Eredin and Vilgefortz who'd sought to steal or control her powers. However, she doubted Daenerys was secretly a power-hungry sorceress…though when she focused on the pale skinned girl, she'd sense a strange power about her. It was faint, unique compared to other auras she had sensed.

"Of course. Considering my…arrival I'm sure you have a lot of questions." She'd pause though, a small smile crossing her face. "In fact, I'm surprised you are so calm and casual towards me, considering I just fell from the sky."

Daenerys couldn't help but laugh softly, a quite lovely sound. "I'm sure Jorah has mentioned a bit of recent events. Perhaps it is best I tell you about me and my people since you seem quite out of place here." There was a hint of sadness in her violet eyes mentioning the past. "This will be quite a long tale overall."

Ciri nodded before she'd shift the worn pillow behind her back a bit to support her up, grunting as her sore injuries ached. "Seems I won't be getting up any time soon, so take as long as you wish."

The amusing remark eased the mood lightly for everyone as Daenerys nodded. "Then I guess we should start from the beginning then…"

…

The last few hours seemed to pass by quickly as both Daenerys and Jorah shared their stories, long tales full of hardships and loss. If anything, Dany's history shared many eerie similarities to Ciri's, such as both being children of high royalty and old bloodlines. From the downfall of her family because of her father's growing insanity, the selfish cruelty of her brother and then the combined death of both her husband and unborn child within the same day. There was so much the young woman and endured, something which Ciri related with.

Soon the tale came to the grim end where Daenerys was ready to die beside her husband, walking into the funeral pyre built to him in a final show of honor. Yet somehow, she survived the whole night untouched by the fire and a trio of dragon eggs, which had been put as an offering, also hatched into the first dragons in over a hundred years.

"So, wait…I wasn't seeing things? You really have three baby dragons?" Ciri chuckled out.

"I would show them to you, but they are sleeping right now. They are still young after all, so they need a lot of food and rest."

"Of course…still it's hard to believe it true. Where I come from dragons have been mostly killed off or have simply traveled into the distant corners of the world. Geralt…my mentor, he has met a few in his travels which were all very exciting encounters from what he had told me. "

"They have dragons where you come from?" Jorah asked curiously. "Then again we still don't know where you are from still."

"Indeed. Despite your looks you don't seem to be Valyrian like me, though similar." Dany added.

By this point Ciri could tell everyone was eager to know her own past. Already she was debating on what cover story to give, though it was hard to make an excuse on the whole teleporting issue. Perhaps it was best if she was forward with the truth about herself. She needed their trust and knowledge if she had any hopes of figuring out how to get back to that frozen wasteland, though she had a feeling it wouldn't be so simple.

"I…shouldn't be telling you this but the situation is dire." She'd answer hesitantly. "You're right about how I'm special because like you I come from an old bloodline. It has many names from where I come from such as Hen Ichaer in the Elder Speech or simply the Elder Blood in the common tongue."

"Sounds similar the Targaryen line. Their history stretches back hundreds if not a thousand years."

"True…but my bloodline isn't that simple. I do come from a long-tangled line of royalty and…I'm in fact the heir to an entire empire, the Nilfgaard Empire. My full name is well…" She'd pause as even she needed a moment to remember it. "…Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon which is usually followed by a dozen or so titles to kingdoms I'm meant to rule."

Surprised looks across both Jorah's and Dany's faces, some hint of doubt showing. "That is…quite the name and unlike anything from even Westeros." Jorah remarked. "I can say I've never heard of this Nilfgaard, even from beyond the Jade Sea. Besides Valyria, no other empires have risen up in any other part of the known world."

Ciri glanced between the two, sensing their building excitement that her story was leading up to. "Because it's-"

Suddenly though were yells outside, people speaking out in an unknown language. Rakharo was tense as he'd drew his strange blade, hurrying out of the tent as he'd yell out in the same language as the people outside. Daenerys had a worried look as she stood up, concerned showing on her face. Before she could leave the tent, Jorah was quick to step forward.

"Let me deal with this. If these are truly Dothraki raiders from another Khal, they may be after you."

"I have no intentions of hiding while they threaten my Khalasar!" She snapped back at him. "Let's hurry. Perhaps we can reason with them." Before Jorah had a chance to argue, she slipped around him to leave the tent while he gave a small sight of frustration.

"At the least you should-"

However, Ciri grunted as she'd push herself up onto her feet, her stance shaky though she'd find her balance in time. Glancing about she'd see her blade Zireal resting against the one of the nearby posts. Grabbing the gnomish sword, she'd strap it across her back before moving to leave.

"Sadly, I'm not one to hide when trouble comes ether."

"That is noble of you, but you're still injured." Jorah politely argued back before more yells followed outside, a heated argument breaking out between Dany and an unknown man.

"No time for debating." Much like Daenerys, she'd get around the baffled man and head outside. She'd at last get a good look Dany's Khalasar who had set up a crude camp around the lone tent she had been in. The group had set up in the shade of a rocky formation to protect them from the harsh sun and the flank of the simple camp. Most of the wanderers were keeping back from the other side of the camp, though when they saw Ciri they'd mutter about in their exotic language. She'd give a small smile or nod, only getting nervous looks back as she passed by.

At the edge of the camp, she'd see where Dany with her three Bloodriders on guard, staring down eight other Dothraki warriors on top of sturdy steeds decorated in red tribal paint and fine decorated saddles. From the harsh tone and angry looks of the leading rider, he was arguing or giving out a threat to Daenerys who had a sharp glare in her eyes.

"I take they're not here for a friendly chat." Ciri remarked as she'd move to stand beside the silver haired girl.

Dany did smirk a bit, though kept a serious look. "He's a Blood Rider of the new Khal Jhaqo. He was a former ko, a lieutenant, to my husband Drogo before an infected wound made him too weak to ride. If a Khal can no longer ride, then he is no longer respected or followed. Jhago though was quick to take half my husband's horde with him and take the title of Khal though. He was always ambitious."

The mention of the late warlord's had the Bloodrider speak out more, again mockingly as Daenerys stare became quite hateful. If looks could kill, Ciri bet the girl could slay an army with that gaze.

"He claims he is here for me to take me back to holy city, Vaes Dothrak, to live the rest of my days with the other widows of dead Khals as a Dosh Khaleen. Seems Jhago is very set on following traditions despite how I'm not fully Dothraki."

"From the look on your face, you're not planning to accept his demands."

"I know by Dothraki tradition I must join the Dosh Khaleen, yet my people and dragons…my children…need me more than ever." She'd give a deep sigh. "If I accept my Khalasar will be spared…only to be enslaved. Refuse, then he swears he will take me by force and slaughter all of my people to the last woman and child."

Ciri glanced back at the rider who again spoke out, pointing at her with a sly grin. He'd start to make gestures with his hands and arms as he seemed to be more…provocative with his speech and body language. When he finished talking his fellow riders gave a mix of chuckles and laughs.

"No doubt that was about me." Ciri sighed, more out of annoyance then anger.

"He thinks you're my older sister and he wishes to…mount and share you with his men in exchange"

"I see. Typical." Ciri took a few steps closer, making the leader rider give an odd look to her. "Well then if he wants me…" She'd grasp Zireal, fine steel ringing out as she drew out from its sheath. "…then he is welcome to try."

"So, the ashen haired wishes to fight me?" The Bloodrider chuckled, speaking in the common tongue with a quite thick accent. "That is a fine blade. I think I'll keep it once I have you begging for mercy…"

The man's cockiness was quite amusing to Ciri, considering she had heard plenty of boasting over her many travels. "Then a challenge. Beat me and we'll accept your demands. Lose and you leave everyone alone. Simple and fair yes?"

"Heh…so the Valyrian bitch thinks she can make demands?" He questioned sternly before glancing at Daenerys. "Do you let her speak for you Khaleesi? Do you let your foolish sister risk what little honor and the lives of your lowly Khalasar?"

By now Jorah had caught up, sword already out as he'd see Ciri stepping up to challenge the Bloodrider. "Ciri you can't be serious?!" He warned out, making her glance back at the man. "A Bloodrider isn't to be underestimated. Besides you are still injured…"

It was obvious he was concerned for her, something Ciri found welcoming really. "I'll be fine Jorah…trust me on this." She'd give a coy smile, making the man give that signature sigh of frustration. He'd leaned in to speak to Dany in a low whisper, obvious concern showing in his eyes as he spoke. Ciri could tell from how he gestured at himself that he was offering to fight instead. For a moment Dany was silent, gaze drifting from Jorah and then to Ciri.

"Cirilla…are you confident that you can defeat him?"

Being called by her official name was odd to hear, yet it showed that Daenerys took this matter seriously. Ciri's emerald-green eyes had a dead set look to them as she glanced back at the others, giving a short nod as an answer back.

"Then I agree with my…sister's conditions…that is if you accept as well."

The Blood Rider paused as he'd look from Daenerys and then Ciri, smirking as he saw the ashen haired girl's intimidating stare. "To fight a woman is beneath me." However, he'd shift off the saddle and draw his sickle shaped blade once he dropped to the ground. "I'll accept your challenge though. At the least this will be an interesting distraction." He'd begin to move closer, stance relaxed as he seemed quite confident, even more with his follow raiders cheering him on.

Ciri in turn marched forward until the two were in charging distance from each other. Soon the two stopped, staring down each other for a tense moment. The Blood Rider had a smug and lecherous look in his eyes, while Ciri's was calm and passive, focused on the fight. She'd shift into a low stance, similar to Geralt's own style yet having a bit of her own personal touch to it.

"I'll try not to scar that lovely face any more then needed." He chuckled before he'd give a yell and rush at her, a fierce display that he'd thought would startle and lower her guard.

However, Ciri didn't even flinch as she kept her readied stance, waiting for the man to get up close to strike at her. The Bloodrider seemed to hesitate slightly in his attack as she didn't react at first, though he swung his sickle blade down at her, aiming for a grazing cut at her shoulder. At that moment she'd move, sword swinging upward with shocking force as she'd parry the attack, making the Dothraki stumble back from the perfect block. One of her legs swept at his, knocking him off his feet and land roughly onto the red colored dirt.

While he was baffled over what had happened, he quickly reacted as he'd roll away and tumbled onto his feet. "A lucky block nothing more!" He growled out as he'd attack again, weapon swinging about in more calculated strikes as he started to fight more seriously. Ciri dodged about with agile grace, though her body ached still from her lingering injuries. It was a minor issue when compared to past fights where she was half dead or at the point of exhaustion.

She'd back step while her blade moved about for redirecting blocks against the Dothraki strikes, giving her time to understand his fighting style and to best counter the unique crescent shaped weapon. The man was growing frustrated, no doubt because he was being so easily bested by a woman before his fellow warriors. Ducking to the right, he'd lash out with a wide slash, though Ciri was prepared for it. Zireal met the raider's blade, forcing him into a weapon lock. He'd curse something out in his native tongue as he struggled, trying to push her back and break her guard. Ciri turned her grip though, twisting her fine blade as she'd use the man's own momentum against him as he lurked forward. In one move she'd wrench his weapon out of his grasp, the sickle blade tumbling across the ground.

The Blood Rider didn't give up when disarmed, lashing out with a quick punch though Ciri lean to the side to avoid it before raising her right knee hard into the man's gut. The blow knocked the wind out of him, making him stagger back before she struck across his jaw with a strong back hand, making him spin about before tumbling to the ground. Ciri winced slightly from the punch, hand flexing since her leather gloves didn't offer that much protection for her knuckles. The Blood Rider groaned as he'd struggle to get back up, showing he was quite tough and persistent to keep fighting. Yet when he felt Ciri's sword press at his throat, he'd freeze and turn his head slightly to see the smirking woman.

"You know you were right…this was quite an easy fight." She remarked mockingly before glancing at Daenerys and Jorah.

The young Khaleesi had a pleased look on her face while the old warrior beside he gawked slightly, impressed with the show of fighting skill he had just witnessed. "I believe you have been bested Blood Rider." Dany calmly stated while the raider growled in anger.

"I demand a rematch! She must have cheated…somehow." He muttered, quickly realizing that was a foolish claim to make.

"You fellow riders witnessed the whole fight and your defeat. Judging by their reactions, they seem to think it was a fair outcome."

Indeed, the other raiders were muttering about, a few even chuckling considering how casually Ciri had defeated their leader.

Ciri had her sword drifting away from his neck as she'd tale a few steps away. "Now then, I take you'll honor our deal?"

The man's gaze was spiteful as both hands clenched at the ground in frustration. "Yes…I'll honor it…" He muttered after a tense moment.

"Good." With that said, Ciri turned about to move back towards Dany's gathered group, her Khalasar giving cheers and speaking out praises in their exotic language. Yet over all the noise she'd hear something odd from behind her, the raid speaking in Dothraki…yet not at the same time.

"Over your corpse, ashen witch!" The words were in Dothraki yet…somehow processed the words despite not knowing them.

Glancing back, she saw the Blood Rider had sprung up onto his feet and drawn a curved dagger, lunging in to attack her from behind. At that moment, instinct kicked in before pale blue light sparked in Ciri's eyes, her Elder Blood stirring the limitless power within her. Just as the man stabbed at her back, she'd disappear in dazzling light which left a faint after-image of her.

"What-" The Blood Rider didn't have enough time to react before Zireal stabbed right though his back, the gleaming blade piercing through his tribal garb and flesh like butter. He'd stare at the blade sticking far out of his chest, shaking hands grasping at it before the weapon pulled out of him. Dropping to the ground dead, his blood darkening the already red sand.

Ciri flick her blade to clear away the blood on it, giving a sigh as she'd stare at the dead man. At that point she'd realize she had phased through him to avoid his attack, right before everyone. Looking at Danerys, Jorah and the gathered Dothraki, there was open shock showing on their faces as they had seemingly seen the impossible.

"Right…going to have to explain that…" She muttered before one of the raiders yelled out.

"Kill the Valyrian Witch!" Again, he spoke Dothraki yet Ciri understood it. Already she was questioning if her Elder Blood was the reason behind this, considering that its full potential and abilities were still unknown to her. Such theories though had to wait as five of the raiders charged at her, seeming dead set to kill her despite their leader's cowardly move to attack her from behind.

"My Blood Riders, aid Ciri!" Dany ordered out the Dothraki warriors snapping to attention as they obeyed. Jorah followed them, equally ready to join the fight.

Ciri raised her sword up, letting power surge through her as the riders neared her. Pale blue light shone in her eyes as she'd 'see' an expanded ring of energy, which soon reached three of the rights. At that moment she'd let the building power loose, fading again in a flash of light as she'd Blink to the three riders. Suddenly, ghostly images of her appeared in mid-air as one by one the raiders were brutally cut down. One lost his head, another an arm and the nearly cleaved from shoulder to waist. They all toppled from their mounts which ran off in a panic, the only raider alive screaming as he'd grasp his gushing stump of an arm. Seeming Ciri appeared right beside him, looming over him as he'd raise his arms up in defense only to get cold steel stabbed right into his heart.

Daenerys Blood Riders and Jorah focused on the remaining even though they were at a disadvantage against the mounted raiders. The group split into teams of two, Jorah with one of the Blood Riders and Rakharo with the fellow Rider. The remaining raiders in turn split into pairs to attack the two groups, making sure they couldn't form a coordinated defense or offense. Jorah was tensed as one of the raiders charged at him, but at the last minute both he and his Blood Rider ally dodged aside. He'd block a sweeping slash by the raider's crescent blade, unbalancing the raider slightly in his saddle. The Blood Rider took that chance to jump up and grasp the man, yanking him off his mount and slammed onto the ground. A quick struggle followed with the more experienced Rider slit the other Dothraki's throat in the end.

Jorah noticed the other raider suddenly break away from his charge, riding fast away from the battle and into the open wasteland. "He's fleeing!"

Meanwhile, Rakharo and his companion had dealt with both of their attacks, taking one down the similarly as Jorah's group. The remaining raider was quickly surrounded as he'd tried to rush his steed by, only to get a knife thrown into his back before being yanked off his mount to be finished off.

"I'll get him!" Ciri called out, again focusing her power as she'd stare down at the distant man. She had never tried to Blink so far before, yet the magic of this world was so potent that she didn't feel limited. Again, she'd disappear in a flash, warping all the way to the distant raider who she stabbed in the side and force off his horse. He'd spit out a curse before getting stabbed in the chest to silence him.

Giving a low sigh, Ciri looked out at the distant camp as everyone was busy rounding up the horses of the dead Dothraki raiders. She'd glance at the steed beside her, debating if she shouldn't just take it and ride away now. Already she was worried how Daenerys and the others would react after seeing her Elder Blood powers. She'd pause in thought, knowing that she needed to leave and face the White Frost.

"Yet where…and how?"

Indeed, nothing was going to plan since she had expected to find the White Frost then destroy or contain it somehow. Now she was possibly a world away without anyone able to advise her.

"Geralt or Avallac'h would know what to do…"

In the end a realization came to her. If Geralt was in her shoes, he'd no doubt stick with people who helped him even if for a short time. Indeed, Daenerys and her people had showed a rare kindness to her despite their own struggles, something that had her pause as she'd grip the reins of her new horse. After a long moment, she'd pull herself up onto the saddle before guiding her mount back towards the camp.

Deep down she had an odd feeling of fate having some hand in all of this. She hated how she was facing the unknown…but for now she planned to face it head on no matter the odds.

…

 **Geralt – Davos Ship within Blackwater Bay**

The ship creaked and groaned, the noises stirring the Witcher awake. A low groan escaped from him as shifting up from the cot he lay on, an aching pain starting up from the back of his neck and up to his head. "Guh…damn it…" He muttered, mind groggy as he'd try to remember what happened. Glancing about he'd realize he was in the crew quarters, a large space which had alcoves set around for cots and bunks.

"Up and about I see." A familiar voice remarked, drawing Geralt's attention to Thoros who was sitting on a nearby chair. "Been keeping an eye on you ever since last night. You scared the Hells out of everyone when you fell over and started shaking like a man possessed." The red robed priest chuckled as he'd offer a hand to pull the Witcher onto his feet before giving a hardy pat on his shoulder. "What exactly happened last night? Stress of the day decided to crash down on you all at once?"

He'd quickly remember the last few moments of last night. Gaunter had showed up suddenly, sharing a quick chat over recent events before mentioning some event, a reawakening. The Red Comet, the surge of Source and the strange 'light' he had seen from the far east. Just trying to picture what he saw hurt his head, making him grumble as he rubbed one hand along the side of it. "Can't really explain it. Just…saw something odd in the horizon and…passed out." It was pretty much the truth despite how vague it sounded.

"Feel there is more to it but…" Thoros shrugged. "…eh…doesn't matter. Right now, you best get up on deck. Everyone is up and about, still pretty rattled about Lord Stark's passing."

"And you aren't?"

The Red Priest gave a faint smile. "For me, I celebrate his memory and actions. Mourning isn't something we follow under the Lord of Light."

"Fair point…guess I can say it was better he died seeing his daughters one last time instead of being executed." Part of him wondered how Ned's daughters would have felt…especially Sansa if she had remained captive at the Red Keep. However, he put such thoughts aside since thinking over the 'what ifs' were unimportant right now. "Anyway, I need to talk to Davos and work out our next move. Know where he'd be?"

"At the wheel no doubt. Been at the helm all night long after what happened."

Geralt nodded as he'd head out of the sleeping quarters, reaching the main section of the mid-deck which had the stairway between levels and to other sections. Heading up, he'd hear the splash of the waves along the hull and squawking of gulls above the sails. On deck he'd see Davos crew busy doing their usual duties, tending to the ropes and sails to ensure the ship was moving at top speed. He'd notice a few of his companions milling about, doing simple tasks or keeping watch out across the vast bay.

The Witcher and priest would head around to the helm of the ship were Davos was at, standing behind the wheel as he kept the ship on track with the high wind blowing them further northeast. The gruff captain had his gaze dead set on the horizon, only looking away when the two neared him.

"Geralt! Glad to see your up and about." He remarked with a small grin. "Everyone was worried after last night, but I knew you'd shrug off…well…whatever happened."

"Glad you had such confidence." The Witcher answered back. "I take we had no trouble last night?"

Davos nodded. "Nothing so far. We got a good lead after all and I doubt any of their ships can match The Hearty."

"Odd name for a fast ship." Geralt paused as he'd glance around the deck, having to admit the ship was well designed and maintained, though had hints of being quite old as well. "Seen a lot of ships on my travels, though yours's seems to be quite agile for a cargo ship."

"Well smuggling was my profession before the Rebellion. Just because I reformed didn't mean I was going to scrap my ship! I made sure to keep her maintained for quick profitable voyages."

"Though she lacks weapons beyond the crew…who aren't hardened fighters."

"You know me. I prefer to avoid danger then face it." Davos said with a shrug. "However, I doubt you woke up just to talk about ships."

"First matter is Lord Stark's body. I take it's isolated right now."

Davos nodded. "Cleared a store room for him. Been cleaned and covered up, so he'll be fine by the time we reach Dragonstone."

"Good." Geralt paused in thought. "How is everyone from the rescue party?"

"A bit shaken up, though recovering. Most of their injuries were minor though most have been distant since yesterday. Lord Stark's death was hard news to take, considering after all they went through back at the capital." He'd pause for a moment. "Be best you talk to them, try to get them focused for whatever happens ahead."

"Sound advice." Geralt agreed. "Keep our course steady captain."

"Will do." Davos chuckled, his expression softening a bit before he focused his gaze out to the sea.

"About time I handle a few matters of my own. Besides doubt you want me looming around while you talk with everyone." Thoros chuckled. "We'll talk again once we reach Dragonstone."

"If that is what you think is best." Shrugging, the Witcher watched the Red Priest walk back for the stairs leading back down below deck. He had to admit Thoros seemed a bit odd, more lively and clear minded than usual. Then again it could be the first time the Witcher had seen the man possibly sober. Part of him felt that he wasn't the only one to have sensed this Awakening, considering Thoros had some strange abilities of his own.

Putting those theories aside, he'd glance about the deck of the ship to see Syrio leaning against the railing of the ship, staring eastward across the water. The duelist had gotten a swallow cut from his jaw and up to his left cheek, showing how even someone of his agile skill could get wounded. Approaching him, the curly haired man glanced at Geralt with a small grin.

"Doing alright Geralt?"

He'd nod back as he'd stand beside Syrio. "Shouldn't have to worry about me, if anything you seem a bit lost in thought."

"True…I've had this strange feeling ever since the day we escaped the Red Keep." He'd brush one hand through his wild hair, face having a deep thoughtful look. "I feel out of place, as if I shouldn't be here. Perhaps I'm simply shaken after all the chaos that has happened…"

"You may understand fight and death, yet open battle must be new to you. It's normal to feel that way."

Syrio shrugged. "That aside, I've been debating on what my path will be. I feel uncertain of what to do."

"Unsure if you wish to stay or return home?"

The duelist glanced at Geralt with a hint of surprise, quickly remembering how insightful the man was. "It has been a long time since I left Bravos and Essos. I do long to return home…but I feel obligated to help you as well, since you saved my life."

"That is kind of you but consider that debt paid for. You did your part helping us save Eddard's daughters despite all the risks." However, Geralt began to think a bit as he remembered last night. Before he had passed out he had sensed Ciri for a split moment, maybe even 'saw' her considering that streak of light in the sky heading far into the east. "There is something you could help me with in Essos. You must know about my adopted daughter Ciri and how's she's missing."

"I've heard such whisperings back at the capital."

"May sound crazy but…had a bit of a premonition last night before I passed out." He kept it vague since already he drew an odd look from Syrio. "Point is I know she's somewhere in Essos. Considering your ties there I feel you'd be most suited to look for her."

"You are making quite the request of me. Essos is a massive place and to find one girl would be an impossible task…"

"Trust me, Ciri is the type who will stand out and draw attention given time. After all, how many young women do you know have ashen hair, a scarred face and dressed around in men's clothing?"

Syrio for a moment seemed ready to answer but hesitated before chuckling out. "Alright I'll admit I haven't met such a woman before." For a moment he paused in thought, thinking over the request. "It will take time…months maybe a year. If you feel that is the best way I can help I will gladly do so."

"Glad you agree. Any plans on how you'll get to Essos though?"

"Some ideas. If Lord Stannis has supply ships heading across the Narrow Sea. If not, I'll have to wait until we get to Gulltown or White Harbor for me to get a way eastward."

"Why those places? They're quite farther north than other nearby ports."

"Because you'll be in a hurry taking Eddard's daughters back to Winterfell, with the quickest route being by boat." Syrio simply answered back. "We'll no doubt stop at either of those harbors, so that will be my chance to head across the Narrow Sea."

"Hopefully we won't have to stay too long at Dragonstone."

"Matters how well you can deal with Lord Stannis. I only saw him a few times before he left the Red Keep. I can tell he's a man that takes his duties seriously and has little sense of humor."

"Details I'll keep in mind." Glancing across the ship deck, Geralt noticed Beric had just finished getting the last set of ropes bundled up and sat down at some tied up crates to rest. "Anyway, need to chat with everyone else. Try to take it easy until we get ashore."

"Wise advice Witcher." Syrion chuckled before the Witcher moved away, heading towards Beric direction.

The young lord had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, revealing his right shoulder had arm had been bandaged up from yesterday's battle. He'd glance up once Geralt neared, giving a respectful nod to him. "Ser Geralt."

"No need to call me 'Ser'. Not really a knight like everyone claims."

"Heh perhaps…though your actions of late have been nothing but heroic."

"Don't discount yourself. I doubt we'd have gotten as far without you or your men."

Beric sighed, bowing his head slightly. "Aye…a lot of good men." He'd give a low sigh, tired after the stressful week that had played out. "Wish I had been more prepared…more organized when we were betrayed at the Red Keep."

"Trust me, I feel the same. Shouldn't have underestimated Littlefinger and his ambitions. Cersei may have been behind the conspiracy against her husband, but it was Baelish who stabbed us in the back. Makes me wonder what kind of meddling he has done while everyone overlooked him."

"We'll have to be ready for him. I bet you anything he will spin some tale to Lady Catelyn, try to use her trust and history to deceive her."

Admittedly Geralt hadn't thought on such a possibility. He'd have to make sure to send ravens out quickly before Baelish and their other enemies spread falsehoods across the Kingdoms. "One thing is for certain, if I ever see him again I'm not going to give him a chance to talk."

Beric's eyes had a fierce gleam to them. "Hope you'll give me a chance to take a hack at him. The Lannisters may much to answer for. In the end his actions are what got Lord Stark killed."

"Agree." Geralt muttered back. "Plans of vengeance aside, I take you plan to stick around."

"Yes. I feel I have a duty to at least ensure Eddard's daughters are escorted safely back home. I know you're more than capable of protecting them, however this is an honor bound duty for me to follow."

"Won't argue with your reasoning, just I question about how you will lead your House. Blackheaven from my understanding is pretty far off and I doubt you'll be able to get back easily."

"Very true. I can't leave my men and House untended, so I've already written up possible orders for them once we've spoken with Lord Stannis."

"What makes Stannis so important to your decisions?"

"I'm sure you've heard plenty of his stern manners and strict way of thinking. Since he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, then he will stick to that claim to his last breath. He will expect every House across all the Kingdoms to side with him, especially the North."

"I'd imagine Robb would accept siding with him. Between Stannis' right to rule and the interest of bringing justice for his father, they'd have plenty of reasons to have an alliance."

"Indeed, but you must understand that the rest of the North has their own interests as well. The other Houses and Lords of the North will see this as a chance to grab power, putting pressure on the young Warden to bend to their demands in exchange for their aid."

"How can you be so sure about that?"

"Because while the North may drive the ideal of honor and tradition there are many who simply follow greed and power. After all you've only interacted with the Starks…you have only one small perception of the Northerners."

Beric was right on that fact. Eddard made it seem as if the North was indeed a unified Kingdom, which perhaps it was under his leadership. With him dead though, it makes sense that those with silent ambitions would make a move to grab for power. "Then more reason for me to get to Winterfell as soon as possible."

Beric nodded in agreement. "For now, let's see if we can gain good favor with Lord Stannis once we reach Dragonstone. After all, we'll need one of his ships if we ever plan to head northward."

Geralt already was wondering how difficult it'd be dealing with the other Baratheon. If he had even a fraction of Robert's stubbornness, it no doubt be tricky to negotiate with him. Besides he did hear odd rumors about the man as well, talk of how he had taken in a Red Priestess, a servant of the Lord of the Light. Thoros had muttered about her, not sharing anything more for now.

"Then I'll try to be on my best behavior." He chuckled, making a small smirk cross the young lord's face. "Know how Sansa and Arya are handling all of this?"

"They've kept to the guest room below deck and have been mostly quiet since last night. Can't imagine how they're feeling after saying goodbye to their father…but they will pull through I'm sure."

"I'll try to talk to them later." At this point Geralt saw Barristan walk up from the lower deck, the old knight giving short formal greetings to the crew who in turn did the same with quite awed looks. Just looking at the man, he could tell he was restless and on edge even though his poise made him seem relaxed. "Anyway, we'll talk later Beric. Find me if anything comes up."

"Of course, Geralt."

Giving a parting wave goodbye, the Witcher turning to walk towards Barristan who glanced at him for a moment before moving to the bow of the ship were there was less of the crew working about. Stopping at the very end of the ship, the two looked directly out to the northeast directly where the ship sailed towards.

"Feels like history is repeating itself once more." The old knight muttered, keeping his gaze forward. "Part of me wonders if I would have stepped in during Lord Stark's trial…try to stop a whole other war from breaking out."

"And would you?"

There was a long pause before Barristan sighed and bowed his head. "I feel I'd stand by and let it happen, just as I did during the Mad King's time." He'd give a low sigh. "The King's Guard was my life Geralt. It was a duty I believed and followed without question…which in turn lead to so much conflict."

"Can't put the blame on yourself for Aerys Targaryen's choices. Besides, he may have tried to execute you if you defied him."

"Or at least try. You don't think I'd stand by and let him arrest or kill me would you." The man chuckled. "I'm sure you know how I scared the other members of my order when they tried to draw swords on me."

"All except Jaime from what I heard." Geralt paused, remembering his short clash with the Lannister on the execution stage.

"He must have known Cersei had a hand in my dismissal. No doubt she knew I'd question King Robert's passing no matter the outcome with you or Lord Eddard. Since she couldn't arrest or execute me, simply removing me from my position was her best choice."

"Do you think she killed Robert?"

Barristan glanced at Geralt, seeing the serious look in those cat like eyes. "We can't be certain. Lord Stark's death by that assassin is proof that someone else has a hand in all this chaos. Too much has happened too quickly for her to plan all of this."

It was a logical reasoning, something the Witcher nodded in agreement. "Have to say I'm getting fed up with all this conspiracy and backstabbing. Faced a lifetime of that back home already."

"It's only going to get worse."

"I know..."

Both men were silent, just taking in the peacefulness of the sunny day and vast sea surrounding them.

"So, what will you do now?" Geralt suddenly questioned. "The Lannisters will no doubt be hunting for you for helping us."

"I've been debating over my next course of action. One matter I feel bound to do is to ensure Eddard's daughters are brought home safely."

"I hope you didn't steal that from Lord Beric. He promised the same thing." The Witcher jested.

"Heh… honest men think alike." Barristan chuckled out. "Yet after my task is done I plan to go to Essos to settle one final matter."

"Essos? Why would you go all the way out there?"

"Personal reasons. Still have some old oaths to keep and answers to find."

It was a blunt and vague answer, though Geralt had some ideas on what the old knight had planned. After all, the last of the Targaryens was somewhere out there in the vast half of the world, though what Barristan planned to do was uncertain to even the Witcher.

"Then I won't question them. I can only wish you the best of luck when we do part ways."

"And the same to you Geralt." Barristan respectfully answered back. "The world is changing. It's not just the looming threat of war but something different…" He'd glance at the Witcher with a sharp look in his eyes. "Whatever happened last night has changed you. Its subtle really, a stronger stance and more alert look in your eyes."

Thinking about it, Barristan did have a point. The Witcher's senses did seem sharper and while his head was still aching from before his body felt more alert as well. It wasn't major, but notable when he put his mind to it. Already he wondered if this awakening may have some effect on his Signs, though he wouldn't know until he had a private chance to practice.

"Whatever the case, I know these coming days will test you Witcher…it will test all of us." Barristan placed a firm hand on Geralt's shoulder. "Knowing you, you'll take on the entire world to protect those you care for."

"Considering what I faced before, I may have already."

The claim had the old knight smirk before giving a parting pat on Geralt's shoulder. "Then don't lose that confidence and determination. Such qualities can prove quite inspiring for others." Removing his hand, he'd give a small sigh. "Anyway, you've heard enough of an old man's ramblings. I best leave you be to enjoy what freedom you'll have before we reach Dragonstone."

Geralt only nodded in agreement before the old knight walked away, leaving the Witcher by himself. There were so many reeling questions going through his mind which in turn led to countless possible outcomes at the same time. "Shouldn't be overthinking or worrying." He muttered to himself as he leaned against the edge of the ship railing. Takin a deep breath, he'd calm himself as he'd shut out the bustle of the crew behind him. He'd slip into a light mediation, focusing on the sounds of the ocean and blowing wind to help relax his troubled mind.

…

"Are you alright Geralt?"

Arya's soft voice had the Witcher's eyes snap out before he'd glance to his right to see the young girl standing by. She still wore the boy clothes she had stolen from before, guessing the ship had nothing fitting for a girl or spare clothing her size. Her eyes were red, cheeks flushed from cry, though right now she seemed calm for the moment. He'd realize it was sunset as he saw the light low in the west, casting a deep orange light across the bay.

"You looked like you were sleeping…sort of." She'd shake her head, seeming unsure with her words. "I was worried when I heard you passed out last night. I thought that you were…"

"Hurt? No just exhausted after everything that had happened." He answered back, shifting to stand up from where he was leaning. "Right now, I'm doing fine, what I'm worried about is you and your sister."

The young Stark was silent, head bowed as she composed herself. "Sansa is…still mourning about father. She blames herself for trusting Cersei and even caring for the…monster." Her tone became spiteful with that last word, her newest title for Joffrey. "I'm done crying and hiding away…I want to make the Lannisters pay for everything they did!"

Those bitter words made short images come to Geralt's mind, seeing Arya as a cold and calculating killer, hardened by years of cruel experience. For that moment of anger, she showed, she resembled that other Arya, Gaunter had showed. That was a future he couldn't let her fall towards.

"So, what will you do?"

"I want to finish my training with you! I know Syrio won't be staying…he told me and said that it be better learning from you." She'd have that determine look show in her eyes, hands clenched tightly. "Then I can help you and everyone else fight back!"

"Still doesn't answer my question." He calmly stated. "Let's say I train you and one day you do have Joffrey at your mercy…do you think simply killing him will help?"

A confused look crossed Arya's face before a hint of anger showed. "Why does it matter!?"

"If you want me to keep teaching you I expect you to answer me."

The stern tone had Arya calm down, giving a small sigh and nod. "I just want justice. He had Lady killed, ordered everyone to try and kill you…then wanted to execute father. He'll no doubt hurt more the longer he lives."

"So that means if you kill him you'll be willing to kill Cersei next?"

"What?"

"Cersei would never stop hunting you down if you killed him. She surely wants me dead for breaking his hand. So, in the end you'll have to kill her too."

"I…well…she's an evil woman after what she has done! She's just as much to blame for what her son did."

"A fair reasoning…but then that means you'll need to kill Jaime next."

"J-Jamie?" Arya sounded nervous now at the mention of him.

"Killing Joffrey would be enough for him to face you but killing his sister would make him dead set." Geralt calmly explained.

"B-But…I can't fight him! Only someone like you or…Ser Barristan could match him!"

"That is what I'm trying to say. In the end, if you take another's life you have to expect others will want vengeance against you for it. So, in the end you'll have to kill all the Lannisters, Cersei's other children included, to stop them from hurting you or anyone you hold dear."

"I…I wouldn't want to hurt Tommen or Myrcella! They're just children, barely my age even!"

"Yes, but what about twenty years later when they grow up? You think they will forget or forgive you for what you did even if it was for a just reason?" Geralt moved closer to Arya, seeing the distraught look on her face. "In the end you'll just push a circle of hate and death, leading to more suffering all around. Besides…would your father want you follow such a path?"

"No…he wouldn't…" She muttered, remembering well her father's final words of advice. "So, what can I do? What is the point of learning how to fight?"

Geralt kneeled to be more at eye level with Arya, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "So that you can protect people like your sister if trouble does come." He answered back. "If you seriously want to continue your training then you must promise me this. That you'll use only what I teach for self-defense and protecting others. Is that understood?"

His calm stern words made her nod, the anger in her eyes faded and replace once more by that sharp determination. "I promise."

Nodding, he'd stand up once more. "Good, I'll expect you to follow that promise. Besides that, expect the next lessons to be much tougher than before. If you plan to fight like a Witcher you will train like one. Understood."

Again, Arya nodded seeming unfazed by promised hardships ahead. Like many times before Geralt saw the splitting image of Ciri about her, which in turn had him focused on seeing her training go through.

"LANDHO! DRAGONSTONE AHEAD!"

A crewmember in the crows-nest yelled out, making Geralt and Arya glance out to the front of the ship. Indeed, there was a dark shape ahead a black rock that the Witcher's sharp eyes determined to be a castle fortress of massive size. As the ship quickly neared the rocky island, it seemed like the structure had been carved out of the black rock itself, a possibility considering the magic and dragons the Valyrian's had in their golden age.

He had read up on the history of Dragonstone, a quite barren island set right at the entrance of Blackwater Bay. The Targaryens had in fact owned the island for centuries before their conquest of Westeros, becoming their sanctuary when the Doom claimed the Valyrian Empire ages ago. After the conquest it had remained a second home for the ancient family, at least until the Rebellion and Stannis being appointed to it.

The sun had nearly gone down the western horizon, giving Dragonstone quite the unnerving look as one by one torches and signal fires lit up across the island. The casting lights would show off the quite grim architecture, revealing that the towers and Great Hall were craved in the shape of dragons either at rest or roaring in fearsome display. With three massive curtain walls surrounding the central keep and it's connecting towers, Geralt understood why the fortress was considered impossible to take through normal means.

He'd notice Arya close beside him, seeming more amazed then fearful of the looming black stone keep and it's many fierce decorations. "I've always heard of this place…never thought it look exactly like nan's stories." She muttered.

"Not even Nilfgaard back home has a fortress as grand and imposing as this." Geralt remarked as the ship soon started to near the docks…or more of a shipyard considering.

It made sense that Dragonstone would be a key location to build and maintain ships because of its strategic location at Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea. Stannis's role as Master of Ships meant he had access to the fleet and the power to order more ships as well. Considering the dozen ships moored or docked about Dragonstone, the rumors of him expanding the fleet were now quite true.

While the island itself was bare of wood and other resources key to ship building, the island was the closest to all the trade routes along Westero's eastern coast and that of Essos. With Davos connections and merchant fleet gathering all the supplies needed, Stannis could build a fleet while maintaining a guard across the mouth of Blackwater.

Already there were soldiers holding torches lining up at an empty spot on the docks, along with a large group marching from the gates of the keep, no doubt the welcoming party.

"Best we join the others." Geralt remarked, glancing back to the center of the deck where everyone was gathering up. He'd lead the way back with Arya following close alongside.

Geralt also noted Gendry among the group who was speaking to Davos. It seemed the young man had decided to leave below deck and join the group for disembarking. The Witcher was beginning to wonder how the Baratheon bastard would fit in at Dragonstone with his uncle, though he had a feeling that things wouldn't play out orderly for him. He'd have to keep a close eye on him during their stay.

Among the crewmembers and Geralt's allies, Sansa easily stood out among them. She seemed to have taken time to fix up her dress and hair after the hectic events of yesterday, along with having calmed herself as well. She was currently speaking silently to Barristan, a soft smile hinting her lips as the old knight was giving her some kind words of encouragement.

"Feeling alright Sansa?"

She'd look to the Witcher, not giving her usual startled look whenever he suddenly greeted her. It seemed after yesterday's escape she wasn't as easily shaken or perhaps had gotten over his gruff appearance.

"I'm well Geralt." She formally greeted back. "So much has happened so quickly but…I know I can't just hide away right now." Her gaze was set to the welcome party, a nervous look hinting her eyes. "I need to be strong if I'm going to speak to Lord Stannis and represent my family."

The news was sudden and surprising for Geralt, not expecting the quiet girl to be willing to take up such responsibility. However, it was a fact he had overlooked since he couldn't make any promises for House Stark, being little more than an unofficial advisor and bodyguard. Only Sansa's word would have any meaning to someone like Stannis, beyond of course her eldest brother.

"Then I'll do my best to advise, though let me deal with Stannis unless he speaks to you."

Sansa nodded, trusting in him as the ship creaked as it dropped anchor to slow down, stopping before the main dock. The crew got large gangplanks out to let everyone file off the ship with Davos at the lead with Geralt and the Stark Daughters following close behind. Barristan, Thoros, Beric and Syrio along with the remaining Stark loyalists. Overall it was a small yet very impressive honor guard for both Arya and Sansa, having some of Westeros best warriors guarding them.

Stannis's men were dressed in a sturdy mix of plate and chain along with short visor dome helms. Their armor lacked any decoration unlike the more lavish Lannister armor, focusing more on pure practical design. The men kept their gazes focused between Geralt and Barristan, no doubt knowing two were the most dangerous among the group.

At the end of the docks was the group that had been seen leaving the main keep. At the front was a stern-faced man nearing his forties with short thinning gray-black hair and scruff across his face. He was dressed much liked Tywin, wearing fine yet plain clothing. The outfit was fine gray woolen tunic with a large black belt with a sword and dagger at his side. Overall he looked fitting of a man dedicated to the military life, strong and imposing. Considering all the descriptions and stories Geralt had heard, he knew that this was Lord Stannis. Just at a glance he could see the family relation the man had with Robert, that stonewall military mannerism the late King often showed. While that was a quality Renly lacked, he knew the youngest Baratheon shared more of Robert's charismatic nature, if more refined. Stannis though screamed cold and humorless.

To the right of Stannis were two men, one very old and one quite young, both wearing the signature robes of the Maesters. Unlike older Maesters like Pycelle and Luwin, this one looked like he was about to shake himself to death. His skin seemed almost see through and his hands trembled as he barely kept himself standing. The younger man beside him was calm and composed despite the elder's weak state. His chain was much shorter, being more of a large necklace instead of long metal sash other Maesters wore. Geralt guessed that the younger man was an assistant for the older Maester…and his future replacement.

On Stannis's left was a tall and slender woman dressed in long and quite revealing red robes, which bared her shoulders and the enticing curves of her full breasts. She had long hair the color of burnished copper and pale unblemished skin. At her throat was a lavish choker with a gleaming ruby set in it, jewelry adding more to her already elegant looks. Her calm sharp eyes had a unique red color, adding more to her exotic appearance. While she seemed to be glancing over the arrival party, he saw her alluring gaze focus on him for a moment, almost as if expecting him. A faint smile hinted her lips, confident and sultry much like one sorceress he knew all too intimately.

He'd stare back, eyes narrowing in suspicion while he'd feel his wolf medallion tremble around his neck. Considering what Thoros had muttered about the Red Priestess and the many rumors about her arrival on Dragonstone, there was some genuine magical power about her. He already knew he'd have to be on guard with her.

Soon, Geralt's group stopped before Stannis's with Davos dropped to one knee to kneel respectfully before his Lord. "Lord Stannis, I Davos Seaworth come bringing honored guests." Standing up, he'd glance back and gesture to each member of the leading group. "Lady Sansa and Arya Stark, Lord Eddard's Stark's daughters."

Sansa gave a quite formal bow, though Arya's was a bit simpler showing how unused she was to such moments.

"I also present Ser Barristan Selmy…umm…former Lord Commander of the King's Guard…"

The old knight bowed after his introduction.

"…along with Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven, a loyal ally to Lord Eddard and King Robert."

Beric too bowed low as well.

"And lastly-"

"Geralt of Rivia."

A smooth female voice spoke up, interrupting Davos. The sea captain glance forward to see it was the Red Priestess, making him give a narrowed glare at her.

"The Mountain Breaker…The White Wolf…Gwynbleidd…" The last title had a hint of surprise show in Geralt yellow eyes while few of his companions showed slightly confusion instead. "So many titles for a foreign stranger such as yourself."

"Melisandre! It isn't proper for you to intrude during introductions like this." Davos spoke up, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Apologies Ser Seaworth. I was too hasty to speak." She coyly answered back, seeming almost mocking to Davos.

"That is enough with formalities Ser Davos. I understand their purpose, yet this is a unique gathering after all." Stannis spoke out, voice firm and commanding with a hinting lack of emotion. His gaze looked over the group, making Sansa and Arya shift nervously as that intimidating gaze settled on the. "Lady Sansa and Arya. I didn't expect we'd meet under such grim tidings."

Sansa nodded slightly. "We've faced many hardships fleeing the capital Lord Stannis. Many lives were lost to save me and my sister…my father being one of the fallen."

"Hmm…so it is true then? Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North is dead?"

For a moment the young woman gave a shaky breath before calming herself. "Yes, your grace…"

"My condolences then. Lord Eddard was a dutiful and honest man, a rarity in these times."

"Thank you, Lord Stannis."

"There is much to discuss, but that can wait for tomorrow once everyone has had a chance to rest. You have my word that we will do our best to protect you and keep your stay here on Dragonstone comfortable."

"That is generous of you, but I-"

"There are some things that can't wait till tomorrow." Geralt spoke up calmly, interrupting Sansa. A curious look hinted Stannis's eyes before he'd nod to let the Witcher speak. "Right now, time is precious with Eddard's passing. I have his final words and will, which needs to be send to his eldest son, Robb Stark, in Winterfell."

"Ser Geralt is right Lord Stannis." Barristan added. "The North needs to know the truth of Lord Stark's fate before falsehoods are spread. Besides the will also is key to your right to the Iron Throne."

Stannis listened, one hand rubbing over his chin in thought. "I see…" He'd pause as he'd look to his Maesters and gathered guards. "Please tend to our guests by showing them to their rooms and seeing to any wounded. Ensure Lady Sansa and Arya have the best guest chambers during their stay."

"As you wish your grace." The older Maester answered while the younger nodded in agreement before gesturing the group forward.

"Everyone please follow me." He said in a low voice. The group was quick to follow, no doubt eager for a warm meal and bed after the rough night on the ship. For a moment Sansa and Arya hesitated, looking to Geralt for a moment though he'd nod to them to reassure them. He trusted Stannis's word and he knew the girls need some good sleep for tomorrow. Arya gave a short wave before tugging her sister forward, following the group up the stairway path into Dragonstone.

Thoros was one of the last to walk by, yet he'd move up close to speak in a hushed voice towards Geralt. "Don't trust her." His gaze glanced at Melisandre, who seemed to notice their short exchange, giving little more than a coy grin back. The Red Priest said nothing more as he'd continue forward, catching up with the rest of the group.

Only Geralt, Barristan and Davos remained of the original landing party.

"Was anyone else present during the writing of Eddard's will?"

"I was Lord Stannis." Davos quickly answered, patting at a satchel at his side. "I have it with me as well, for you to see for yourself.

"Good. I want to read it myself to truly validate it." He'd turn towards the looming keep, already moving to lead the way, the other following along.

"It will be genuine Lord Stannis." Melisandre calmly stated. "The fires have been true so far after all."

"They have."

Geralt was curious about what they were muttering over, though he remembered how Thoros claimed to have seen events play out in fires he stared deeply into. Since this woman shared the same faith, it made sense she may have the same ability though better experienced then his companion.

"You seemed quite prepared for our arrival." Geralt remarked as they'd near the gate of the keep.

"Lord Stark and Davos has been keeping me informed of events back at the capital. As you know I was working closely with Jon Arryn to investigate more on Cersei and her children. When Lord Arryn died, I knew staying was a risk and left the capital." He'd guide the group towards one of the looming dragon shaped towers which connected to the central massive tower that made up much of the keep. "Was Cersei behind it though, killing both Lord Arryn and Robert?"

Geralt was silent, as they'd enter the tower and start working their way up to the higher levels. "I only have theories." The group reach the bridge point to the main tower, crossing over as a harsh wind blew by before they'd enter it. "I'd rather not share base suspicions. Better to deal in hard truths instead."

"Wise way of thinking Geralt." Davos commented.

"A fair point indeed." Stannis muttered as they'd soon reach the highest level of the main tower and enter a large chamber.

It was a meeting room, though it was far from ordinary because of the grand stone 'table' set across it. The table was really a detailed stone map of the continent, every feature and major city being shown and the whole landscape beautifully painted as well. At the far end was a large open balcony that faced westward towards the distant main land. Geralt knew this room was where history had been made as the Targaryens planned their grand conquest of all the Seven Kingdoms.

"Quite the map." Geralt muttered as he'd pace around the table, hand rubbing along it's rough surface. Already he'd note there were war pieces and House markings spread about, the expected clues of war plans being made. "Seems you're already active on battle plans."

"As an old Valyrian saying does, 'If you want peace prepare for war'. Robert feared of a Dothraki invasion because of Daenerys, so I had official reasons to build fleet and gather up forces. I knew such an attack was unlikely yet knew that the threat of civil war nearing because of all the intrigue and chaos happening at King's Landing."

"Quite the tactical and practical planning. You prepared before everyone else while drawing little suspension to yourself."

"All I need now are armies to enforce my right to the Iron Throne. With the official degree given through his letters across the Kingdoms and affirming it through his will, I'm certain I can gain sway with the Houses."

Barristan nodded, though had a warily look on his face. "I wouldn't be too confident on the matter Lord Stannis. Tywin is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and has the deep loyalty of the many lords in that region. He will no doubt also use his connections in the Riverlands to further bolster his forces and start a line of defense against the North. As for the Stormlands…I know that your brother had returned to Storm's End."

"All fair points, though I question why you mention Renly."

"It's the issue of him he supports your claim or not."

Stannis paused, fingers tapping a bit in annoyance at the thought. "I will be sending a raven to know of his intentions." He simply answered back. "Right now, my concerns are more to the North. Robb Stark will be soon named Lord of Winterfell no doubt and he will no doubt fully agree to my claim."

"True, though I doubt the other Northern Lords will. Right now, this is the time for the ambitious to make their move to grab for power. You need to be quick making deals and compromises."

"Deals…compromises…" Stannis repeated under a low breath. "The issue is simple, I'm the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. If any House takes arms against me be it on the side of the Lannisters or in their own self-interests I will deem them an enemy of the people and fight them without mercy."

At that point Geralt saw the man's dead-set view of the world, a black and white one. Already the Witcher wondered what would happen if Robb made the choice to not support Stannis and try facing the Lannister's as his own faction. He'd have to deal with two well prepared forces lead by two very ruthless commanders.

"Indeed, you have the right to rule." Melisandre answered back, her elegant voice drawing everyone's gaze onto her. "Both by the laws of the land and the blessing of the Lord of Light. However, there is wisdom in Geralt's words." She'd shift close beside Stannis, placing one hand on top of his to calm the tapping movements his fingers made. "Showing a generous hand will surely sway doubters to your side, ensuring a quick victory to the throne."

Stannis was silent as he thought over her insightful words. Geralt knew very well what she was going for, wondering why she was so quick to support his advice instead of siding with his choice or press her own opinion. She'd whisper something more, making the Lord's narrow gaze soften before muttering back to her. Soon, they finished speaking and he'd set his gaze back to the Witcher.

"Considering your many accomplishments and feats, I know you're a very capable man, Ser Geralt." Stannis calmly remarked. "Do you think Robb will be a capable leader for the North and will put the good of the nation before his own Kingdom."

Geralt's yellow eyes locked with Stannis, the man staring back unflinching even when looking straight into that cat like gaze. "I do. He is young, but he fully understands the duties and choices he has to make as Warden of the North."

There was a long pause before the Lord nodded. "Then we will set plans to negotiation. You will send a Raven with Lord Eddard's will and news of your arrival here on Dragonstone. Meanwhile, Lady Sansa and whoever she wishes to advise her will speak with me along with my own council on the terms of an alliance."

"Simple terms overall." Davos muttered; the man having been silent for most of the conversation "Forgive me for asking this but…what if agreements aren't reached?"

Everyone gave questionable looks to the sea captain, wondering what he was going on about.

"I know we should focus on the best outcome, though I feel you must be open if a deal isn't made."

For a moment, Stannis didn't answer though there was a hint of respect with Davos bold statement. "Putting honesty before all else. Very well, that is fair after everything the Witcher has shared." Looking to Geralt, Stannis kept that calm look about him. "If an agreement of alliance is not met, then Lady Sansa and Arya are to remain as political prisoners until their brother agrees to my terms. You and your companions will be imprisoned, though treated fairly until I've taken the Iron Throne. Is that clear?"

It was a blunt answer, one that made Davos pale slightly as he'd look to Geralt and Barristan. Both men were calm despite the threats given, Witcher and knight glancing at each other in some form of silent agreement.

"Then I will be forward with you Lord Stannis Baratheon. If such an outcome happens then know that I will give you and your men one chance to release us and provide a ship for us to travel to the North. If you plan to keep us here by force, then my companions and I will resist you. Is that clear?"

Davos gulped seeing the fierce look in Geralt's cat like eyes. Even Barristan was slightly shaken by that glare, being the same look he had given Lord Baelish when he had betrayed them. Melisandre remained calm, a soft pleased smile hinting her face while Stannis stared back, seeming unfazed by the Witcher's counter threat.

"Heh…bold honesty. I can see why Robert had such a grudging respect for you." Stannis muttered, a hint of a smirk crossing his lips, the closest to a smile the man had shown so far. "We've discussed enough tonight. A long night's rest would do everyone some good." Shifting away from the map table, ready to leave the room.

"One request. May I stay here in the map chamber for the night?" Geralt suddenly asked, making Stannis pause for a moment.

"I see no issue."

The Witcher only nodded slightly in respect before Stannis left the chamber. Barristan soon following giving a parting glance to Geralt before leaving as well.

"Ugh…sometimes I wish I didn't speak my mind." Davos muttered, rubbing one hand across his worn face. "Letting my good nature get ahead of my reasoning."

"Hmm…I think there was logic behind your questioning." Melisandre remarked, the Red Priestess approaching the sea captain. "In the end, you showed how Geralt is serious in protecting the Stark daughters and make quite the impression between him and your liege." She had one hand reach to brush along the light beard covering Davos chin, the man shifting slightly from her touch. "Still cautious of me Ser Davos?"

"I am a married man Melisandre and thus avoid such closeness." He bluntly answered before moving aside, avoiding the coy look she returned to him. "It has been a long few days for me. Excuse me."

Moving to leave, stopping close to Geralt to take out the sealed scroll case containing Ned's will along with parchment, ink and quill. "Best pick a big raven for this." He muttered, making a small amused smile cross Geralt's face. Giving a tired sigh yet a friendly grin, Davos hurried out of the room, no doubt eager for long night's sleep.

Geralt quickly had his attention shifted to the Red Priestess, the woman where Davos had original while she gazed back at him with a sly look in her eyes.

"How did you know about my other name?" He calmly questioned.

"You mean Gwynbleidd?" Slowly Melisandre stepped closer, her red eyes locked with his bright yellow.

"It's not a title most people often talk about. Even when it was told during the Tourney of the Hand, most forgotten it for more…simpler titles."

"Hmm…true. The common folk aren't so fluent after all and the Mountain Breaker has become popular."

"So then how did you know of it?"

Again, that coy smile…a taunting smile. "The fires showed me Geralt. They showed me so much about you." Her gaze glanced to a nearby brazier before she'd pace closer to it. "The Lord of Light's vision spans far. Past, present and future."

"Forgive me if I feel doubtful on such claims."

"You doubt despite all your experiences?"

He didn't answer, keeping a passive look across his face.

"You have so many virtues that even the greatest of men lack. However, you lack a key trait…and that is faith." Slowly she'd walk pass him, heading for the doorway out of the map chamber. "In time you'll come to me first, seeking answers about the Child of Destiny…and the last battle we will all face during the Long Night."

Those final words had the Witcher tense up as he'd turnabout, seeing her red robes disappear down the hallway. Already he was understanding Thoros warning, seeing how the woman already had quite the hold of Stannis as his advisor. There was no denying she had magic about her, yet to what degree he couldn't be certain.

He'd glance at the fresh parchment and ink laid out for him, moving up to one seat to sit down. There was still one last task to do, one that very well trigger a long chain of events that come throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Grasping the quill, he'd begin to write…

 **Dear Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North:  
I will be direct with my message here. Eddard Stark, your father, is dead. The claims that he is a traitor are lies created by the Lannisters to discredit and distract. Read whatever letters your father sent to you or the other lords, it details the crimes that 'Queen' Cersei has committed in her grab for power. The trial was meant to force his silence, yet it got out of hand when his execution was ordered. He was mortally wounded in the escape, but I was able to save both Sansa and Arya along with reclaiming Ice.  
Right now we're taking refuge on Dragonestone under Lord Stannis Baratheon's care, who is the rightful ruler of the Iron Throne. Your father supports Stannis's claim to his last breath, something that you should honor. This coming war is more then just getting justice for Eddard but keeping the stability for the whole country. Don't forget that duty, no matter how much the Lords of the north pressure you. I trust you will make the right choice though.**

 **PS: DO NOT TRUST ANYTHING FROM LORD PETYR BAELISH! He betrayed us at the Red Keep and will no doubt play on your mother's trust.**

 **From, Geralt of Rivia.**

With the long letter signed, he'd quickly get it rolled up and fitted into the scroll case with Eddard's will. Shifting up from his seat, he'd give a small sigh as he'd look at the scroll case before marching out of the room for the keep rookery. Picking out a larger raven trained for Winterfell, he'd strap the scroll case to it before letting the black bird loose. His sharp eyes tracked it for a moment as he quickly flew to the northwest, disappearing into the creeping darkness of the night.

"Now the worst part…waiting…" He sighed, as he'd return to the map room once more. Slowly he'd walk out to the wide balcony, taking a deep breath as cool wind and the smell of the sea washed over him. Indeed, he had many questions…uncertainties over what to do. Right now, he felt like he had traded the gilded cage of the Red Keep for the isolated prison of Dragonstone. He knew things would be tense here, but at least he still had close allies at his side.

"Won't be just me against the world at least…" He chuckled to himself as he'd shift down onto his knees, taking a meditative stance. Right now, he needed to clear his mind and thoughts, try to focus on the main challenges he faced. Taking controlled breaths, he'd focus his senses to the sounds of the blowing wind and crashing sea, drifting his mind into deep meditation.

…

 **Hadrian – Riverlands, The Woods Near High Heart**

Hadrian stumbled again, tumbling onto the soggy ground before staggering up back to his feet. The young man's clothes were dirtied by mud, plant life and rain, having been running nearly nonstop after last night's attack. His body shivered from last night's rain and exhaustion, yet he pressed on as he'd walk down a small sloop. Tripping on a root, he'd curse out before falling down the rest of the way before landing in the middle of a trial. He'd groan from his fall, laying still as he caught his breath, not caring if he was laying in mud. However, he'd hear something nearing him, the clop of hooves against soft earth and the creak of wood.

"Woah there!" The driver spoke out, tugging the reins to slow the horse when he realized Hadrian in the middle of the road. "By the Seven…" The man dropped off the cart, hurrying over to tug the young man up as he struggled to stand. "Don't push yourself lad, you look beaten as hell."

"I need to go…" Hadrian muttered, one hand grasping at the man's shoulder tightly. "Have to warn father…"

Looking at the man, he'd realize he wasn't a Riverlander but a Northern considering his full short-cut beard and gruff wrinkled face, fitting of someone who worked outdoors constantly. The man was dressed travel in a mix of cloth and leather clothes, though Hadrian noted the leather and cloth were finer quality then a farmer could normally afford.

"Slow down lad. Warn who about what?" The traveler supported Hadrian over to his cart, guiding him around to the back of it.

There were keg barrels tied up in the very back along with bundles fresh clothes and leather, no doubt for crafting or trader. However, Hadrian did get startled as he'd see a large dog resting on one of the piles of leather, a half-wolf hound with a deep black coat. It had been resting when the two arrived, opening its eyes to glance at it's master and the dirtied young man.

"Don't worry yourself lad, Garm may be a big one yet he's a gentle giant." The man assured as he'd ease Hadrian to sit down in the wagon. The boy shifted slightly from the wolf, who gave a low huff, eyes closing to return to it's nap. "A lazy dog as well. Anyway, tell me who you are and what happened?"

Hadrian leaned back to relax, taking calmer breaths as he had a moment to rest. "My name is Hadrian Rivers, son of Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall."

"A noble bastard?" Eyeing over Hadrian, yet he could see the hint of noble upbringing from his formal manners and literate speech. "What are you doing all the way out here on foot? Take you about four days to march this far from the Hall."

"I was part of a group…a search party looking into disappearances. Whole villages have been found empty and travelers disappearing all within the inner woodlands." A sudden twig snapping had him tense, looking about nervously.

"Calm yourself Rivers." The man places his worn hands firmly on the boy's shoulders, calming him down. "I can tell you've been in a battle. You got that look…battle shock. Seen plenty of that in the later end of the Rebellion."

"Rebellion? You fought in it?"

"Aye, but that isn't important. Right now, I need to know who attacked your."

Hadrian paused, gulping nervously as he'd glance down at his lap. "I don't know…they were these grotesques things…looked and sounded like women yet…they weren't." He'd take a shaky breath, hands trembling. "They killed everyone…the plants came alive…a swarm of birds…and the big one crushed Ser Cordin-" He'd hear those horrible screams, seeing how armor plate and bone was crushed with such ease. "It crushed him like a…"

"Boy, you're hardly making sense to me." The man quickly spoke up, voice firm yet having a calming command to it.

"I'm sorry just…the only way I can describe them…they were monsters."

There be a tense pause as Hadrian stared at the man's deep brown eyes, worry showing in them. "You're just confused. From what I can tell you've been running all night…in the rain none of the less." Sighing, he'd shake his head. "Not doubting you Hadrian, just hard to believe that is all."

"I know what I saw!" He sharply answered back before calming himself. "Please…I need to get home and warn my father. If a reward is needed I'm sure-"

"No need." The man quickly answered back. "I was heading for Raventree anyway, picking up supplies for my inn." He'd march around to the front of the wagon, pulling himself onto the front seat and grabbing the reins. "Consider this a civic duty, helping the lordship and all."

Hadrian was silent, surprised by the man's honest and selfless nature. "Thank you…umm…"

"Marcus Grames, innkeeper." He'd answer back before flicking the reins to get the horse moving.

"You'd a good man Marcus…father will honor you for this."

"Bah, never been much for such treatment." The Northerner chuckled. "Now you best quiet down and rest. Sound like your going to keel over if you keep talking. I'll wake you up when we night nears, and we need to make camp."

Hadrian nodded, giving a tired sigh as he'd lean back against the side of the wagon. His eyes closed at first, yet he'd feel something shift about next to him. Opening one eye, he'd see Garm had moved to rest his head on his lap, trying to offer some warmth and comfort to the boy. He couldn't help but give a small smile as he'd scratch over the half-wolf's scruffy fur before closing his eyes once more and drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Marcus glanced back, glad to see the boy relaxed for once. However, he was on edge for now as he'd glance about the woods. If the boy had been attacked, then it was most likely the culprits were close by. However, after hearing Hadrian's chilling story, he couldn't deny something was off about the woods…like some sickness was just hinting the environment.

"Just feels wrong…instinct never been wrong…" He muttered to himself as his gaze drifted to the tree tops. He'd pause as he saw something very odd sight, a flock of crows perched in the branches of nearby trees. All of they're heads were moving as one, tracking his movement as he'd head further down the trail. "Damn it Grames…what did you get yourself into." He muttered, returning his eyes to the road, urging his horse faster ahead. Right now, he wanted to cover as much distance before nightfall which was only a few hours away.

…


	26. S2-E2: The Calm Before War

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Calm Before War**

 **Forward: Editing and proof-reading credit for Rainsfere.**

…

 **Hadrian - Riverlands – Midnight**

The young man groaned as he shifted on the bedroll he laid on, body aching still though no longer covered in damp clothing anymore, having been changed into some oversized commoner clothes. He'd quickly realize it was night as he'd gaze up at the starry sky between the gaps of the looming tree branches. Nearby, he'd hear the crackle of a burning campfire and the scrapping of metal on wood, making him glance off to the right.

He'd see the Northerner, Marcus, sitting back against the side of his wagon while he carved away at a piece of weirwood, the shape of the carving seeming to be a man. Resting besides Marcus was Garm, the big half-wolf gnawing on a bone. The Northerner glanced up from his work to look at Hadrian as he'd shift to sit up and stretch his sore body.

"Doing alright lad? When I tried to wake you up I feared you passed on." The man remarked with a chuckle.

"Ugh…guess I was that exhausted." Hadrian muttered as he'd look around the rest of the camp. He'd see his clothes hanged up on a simple rank to dry off by the campfire, which also had a split with a large skinned rabbit cooking on it. "Where are we exactly?"

"About halfway to Raventree Hall. We'll get there by mid-day tomorrow if the roads are clear and weather in our favor." He'd carve at the piece of wood a bit more. "You didn't tell me where you ran from earlier. Judging from where I found you, you must have come from the south."

Hadrian nodded. "My group was close to High Heart, a landmark that was at the center of all the disappearances within the area."

"High Heart huh? Nothing there but weirtree stumps and superstition."

"Yes…but maybe there is something unnatural lurking there…"

Marcus paused, his gaze drifting about the dark woods surrounding them. Even Garm seemed to pause in his gnawing, ears perked up as if hearing something. "I'll admit, something has been off since we picked you up."

"How so?"

"Been around these woods for years, know them quite well. Yet today everything feels…quiet. Listen."

Hadrian paused as he quickly noted that the normal sounds of the woods seemed silent. Raventree Hall was set in a lush valley, so he knew well the sounds of the nighttime wild life. Yet everything seemed muted, no animals making their cries or shifting about in the distance…just silence.

"It's odd."

"The forest is scared." Marcus muttered. "Only a few times this has happened in my experience. Means something big and dangerous is about."

"You seem to know a lot about survival and wildlife."

"Sort of expected if you plan to live in the North." Marcus chuckled. "Yet I guess you can say I've taken the time to master the skill. Had to support ma until her passing…hunting and guiding for supplies and coppers."

"No father?"

Marcus shook his head, a bitter look hinting his eyes. "Disappeared when I was only a few years young. Nothing more to say about him."

"Ah…I'm…sorry to bring it up."

"No worries lad. It's the past after all." Setting the carving down, Marcus moved to check on the cooking rabbit. He'd nod his head before carefully taking it off the split and onto a wooden plate set aside before he began to strip away the meat with another knife on hand.

"You mentioned last time you fought in the Rebellion."

"Aye. Ma had passed by then and when the call of war came…well I was just a one year away from becoming eighteen. Like many young men I was eager for the glory of battle and was quick to obey the call to war."

"What Lord did you serve?"

There be a small pause as Marcus finished carving up the meat, then splitting it up for both him and the boy. "House Bolton." He simply answered back after handing the plate over.

Hadrian recognized the name, mainly because of the House's long and dark history. "I heard of them. Said to be as old as the Starks and had challenged them a few times historically." He'd eat a few pieces of the meat, which while plain tasting was at least filling. "So…is it true they do the whole…umm…flaying thing?"

Marcus didn't answer as he'd move back to his spot, handing a few pieces of meat to Garm who quickly gobbled it up. "Maybe…" He muttered with a shrug, avoiding a straight answer. "Didn't join the fight for them, I did it for the North."

"So, what did you do exactly?"

"Scouting and the like. Didn't get into any major battles until the Trident."

"Father mentioned that battle a few times. He joined the Tullys when they sided with King Robert."

"I remember that battle well. Seemed like something out of an epic, the two armies across all that river and marshland. King Robert's commanding voice could he heard across the whole field. Never fought harder in my whole damn life…" He'd chuckle a bit, a faint smile on his face. "Yet so many died among all those rivers. Bet if you went up their you'd find a corpse still stuck in the riverbed or aged weapons lost in the brush."

"It was that fierce of a battle?"

Marcus nodded. "I lost count of how much dead there were. Rivers were red with all the blood that for sure." The man grimly muttered. "Don't know how many I personally killed…dozen to my crossbow…dozen others to my axe?" He'd shrug. "Bah…sorry lad, getting caught up in old thoughts."

"Its fine. I've always wanted to know more about such a battle from someone not a noble born."

Marcus had a hint of respect show at the boy's remark. "People always focus on the battle between the King and Rhaegar, never the harshness the soldiers faced." He'd eat a bit more of his plate of meat before sighing. "Just how all wars go. The Lords and rulers get all the fame, while the footmen become nothing more but a number in some Maester's tome."

Hadrian was silent on that matter, understanding that sad reality. How many families on both sides had lost fathers and sons, all because of the Mad King's cruel nature? It was a bit sickening to think about it.

"So, what did you do after the war though?"

"Eh? Not so fast lad! Not telling you my whole life story just yet, not until you share a bit about you own."

"Me?" Hadrian brushed his hair a bit, seeming shy on the matter. "Well…I'm a bastard of Tytos Blackwood and my mother Keira Parsin who was a maid at Raventree Hall. Was born three years after the Rebellion. Father…wanted to marry her but couldn't because of the backlash he'd receive since the other lordships desired alliances through marriage. At the least he let her stay at the Hall and let her side of the family move into one of the nearby towns."

"A fair outcome than most common born families." Marcus commented.

Hadrian nodded. "Mother died though when I was six. Scarlet fever, a serious case. Father had his Maester do everything he could but…"

"No need to continue on that lad. Lost my ma to sickness too, so I understand."

"After that, I had started studying up medicine and first aid. Father didn't mind and always had the Maester tutor me, though he sent me to my aunt and uncle in the nearby town. Yet…there was a grayscale outbreak. Biggest one that the region had seen in decades."

"Grayscale? Quite the rare sickness…horrible one at that."

The boy nodded. "I was lucky to have avoided it. Was put under quarantine when father was forced to close the village off. My aunt and uncle got it…knew what it'd do to them…begged me to give them a quick death instead of letting them be carted off to be Stone Men."

"Mercy killing…I'd ask the same."

"Was just thirteen when that happened. In the end the village was purged, either killed off or sent for Essos to fully turn. Again…I was lucky."

"Unfair to lose family like that."

"Father tried to care for me yet…I avoided it. I felt guilty that I survived…and just ran off one night because of it."

"What did you do?"

"I just packed my bags and rode off. Was young after all, confused and emotional…well…maybe still emotional." He'd jest about himself. "Rode all the way to the Ruby Fork, was conflicted on what to do before finding someone down in the muck. An old man in some red robes."

"Red robes?"

"Claimed he was an alchemist from the Guild in King's Landing. Sort of left to do his own research around Westeros yet had a run in with criminals which he just escaped yet was injured."

"What exactly happened?"

"Just…helped him up and got back to his camp close by. Spent all night just treating his injuries, though he guided me most of the way." There was an odd look in Marcus's eyes as the boy talked about the man, making the Hadrian pause for a moment. "Umm…something wrong?"

"Oh? Ummm nothing. Just…what was the man's name."

"Uh, he never told me really." The boy chuckled. "He was secretive about it so just had me call him Red Cap…you know because he wore one. Anyway, I stayed with him for a while to help him recover, was taught to cook up strange potions that healed him so quickly. Half a week later and he was fit once more."

"Must have been grateful."

"Heh, he was quite grouchy at times. He'd never out right praise me, always pointing out at how I could have done better on one step or another. Still, he claimed I had quite the talent for someone so young and offered to further my knowledge, even teach me alchemy."

"Quite the unique offer considering. What about your father, surely he was looking for you."

"He was…but I did send a message, told him I was safe and what I was doing. Kept writing over the course of a year as I studied at one of the alchemist's labs hidden away in the Tumblestone mountains." He'd give a small smile, seeming to have fond memories. "He was a tough teacher, but I knew he cared about me mastering what I learned and ensuring I did things right."

"How long you stay?"

"About a year. I…left for personal reasons…disagreements on my mentor's ideals."

"What kind of ideals?' Hadrian was silent, glancing up to look at Marcus with a quite serious look. The man knew it was a touchy matter, so he'd give a sigh and nod. "Guess it's my turn to apologize for prodding too much.

Hadrian's expression softened at the kind words. "Its fine. Seems we both have things about our past that are too important to share."

"Heh, true enough."

Hadrian glanced at the figurine that Marcus was still holding. "So, who is that for?"

The man glanced at the wood carving, having nearly forgotten about it. "Ah, my daughter. She just turned six today, so it's one of many presents I have for her and my wife. The two manage the inn whenever I'm off resupplying."

"Sounds like you've settled down well after all your hardship."

A small yet warm smile crossed Marcus's face. "Aye…wouldn't trade it for all the gold in the world."

Suddenly, Garm tensed up beside Marcus before a freakish snarling sound echoed out through the woods. The half-wolf barked and snarled back, yet Hadrian could tell the beast was on edge. "What in the Seven was that!?"

"Trouble." Marcus muttered as he'd reach back to take out a crossbow he had hidden behind him. Hadrian had seen crossbows before, though the innkeeper's weapon was unlike any he had seen. For one it was quite larger in size with the metal and wooden arms being of a recurved design. There was a pull latch at the very end, an odd design that the boy remembered seeing in a few Maester drawings in one book. "I was right. Something been following us."

"Following us?" Again, there was snarling which seemingly a mix of human and beast from what the boy could tell.

"Be calm boy." Marcus warned as he'd slowly stand up, keeping his back against his wagon to protect his flank. "When you see anything move…you rush for the wagon and get under it. Understood."

The man's calm orders made Hadrian nod, trusting the experienced hunter. Right now, the boy was tense, eyes rapidly glancing about the dark woods as the terrifying noises got closer. His heart was racing as he was ready to spring forward. Suddenly the primal sounds stopped, leaving the forest silent except for the boy's nervous breathing.

Then there was a roar as a large humanoid figure leaped out from the darkness, going right for Hadrian. The boy had only a split second to see the creature, a fleshy thing that seemed patched together with different body parts. It had a human like face with sharp crooked teeth baring out and rough clawed hands fit for tearing flesh.

The monster howled out as Marcus fired his crossbow, the powerful bolt slamming right into its chest to interrupt it's leaping attack. "GET IT GARM! HADRIAN MOVE!" The half-wolf growled out as it rushed at the stunned creature which shifted onto all fours, seemingly shrugging off the crossbow bolt deep in its chest. Garm bit down on one of the creature's arms as it swung out at the half-wolf, drawing a pained growl from the monster as it's limb was yanked about forcefully.

Hadrian snapped out of his fearful state as he'd rush for the wagon, moving into a slide to get under it. He'd watch as Marcus tugged at the latch to draw the crossbow string back and click it into place before loading a new bolt. Garm tugged the flailing creature about, using his size and hold on it's arm to keep it unbalanced along with having its side exposed for Marcus's next shot. Again, the monster roared as another bolt slammed deeply into it's fleshy, only to fight back more fiercely. There be a sickening snap of bone and rip of flesh in Garm's jaws, the canine tearing the forearm off.

"Look out!" The warning was timely for the half-wolf which tumbled aside as the creature swiped with it's working arm, fighting still even as it's started to bleed from its severed limb. Marcus cursed out as the creature set its angry gaze onto him while he hurried to load the next bolt. The monster despite the pain it felt rushed at him fast, forcing Marcus duck and sidestep at that clawing attack. Dropping his crossbow, Marcus drew out a hand axe and hunting knife, lunging in to strike fierce blows across the monster's neck and shoulder.

"Bloody freak!" He growled as the monster shrugged the strikes before giving a backhand blow to knock Marcus off his feet and onto his back. The monster pounced at him, jaws going for his throat, yet he was faster as he shoved the shaft of his axe to keep that toothy maw at bay. With his knife, he'd stab at the neck and skull even, tough bone stopped the knife from piercing into the brain. Just as the creature seemed ready to bite down at the man's throat, it was yanked back as Garm came to his master's aid, having grabbed at one of the monster's legs to pull it off Marcus.

With the creature distracted, Marcus took the chance to scramble up before noticing Hadrian was standing up, the crossbow in hand. Tossing it over to the man, he fluidly aimed at the creature's head as it snarled at him in defiance before the bolt pierced into its right eye and deep into the skull. The bolt tip even pierced the very back, showing just how lethal the weapon was. The monster at last was still, Garm letting go of the leg though he paced around the creature, growling and sniffing at it.

"By all the gods…" Marcus muttered, panting deeply as he'd reload his crossbow again, wanting it ready for any more lurking dangers or if the monster was seemingly playing dead. Moving closer, he'd kick the thing onto it's back, the fleshy creature remaining still. "What the hells is this? Looks like man and beast…"

Hadrian moved closer as the older man to get a closer look of the monster. Indeed, it looked like a man, expect the limbs were warped to take on a more animal like poise with bone and muscle bulging in painful ways. Already the thing reminded him of the hags that had attacked his group, making him shiver from the horrible memory. But when he'd look at it's face, his eyes widened, and he'd feel bile coming up his throat. Staggering away, he had one hand cover his mouth to keep himself from throwing up.

"Hadrian! What's wrong?!" Marcus had a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, who was gasping and sobbing out. "It's gruesome I know. Never seen anything like this in all my life-"

"It's face…" Hadrian muttered between breaths, gaze drifting back to the dead monster. "It has Ser Cordin's face…" He'd clench one hand tightly, teeth clenched as anger now burned inside of him. "Not only did they kill him they…use his body to make this…thing!"

Marcus was baffled at the boy's reaction before staring back at the monster he could see that the face did have a warped yet human look to it. "Never been one to believe myths or magic…but no denying there is something foul going on." Picking up his knife again, he'd kneel beside the corpse. "Either way, your father will need to see this."

"Wait you plan to…" Hadrian paused as Marcus glanced back with a somber look.

"The head will do. I…I understand if you want to look away."

The boy paused before shaking his head. "No…do it."

The man hesitated yet nodded as he'd drive his knife into the dead monster's neck, beginning to carve through flesh and bone to begin severing the head.

…

 **Ciri - Somewhere in the Red Wastes – Dawn**

Ciri stared out to the east as the low light of the sun began to rise over the distant mountains, casting a low orange light across the red sands of the wasteland. While this place was barren, the natural beauty of the landscape was unlike anything she had seen even throughout her travels between worlds. Her gaze shifted to the rest of the Dothraki camp, which was silent as the tired nomads were still asleep. Ciri's simple tent was set farther away from the rest if the Dothraki, though remained close to Dany's and Jorah's.

After dealing with the last member of the raiding party, she had returned to Daenerys' group who were obviously quite shocked over what happened. Not only had she defeated a Bloodrider in a duel but had seemingly teleported in flashes of light. The Dothraki were on edge after what they had seen, being between a mix amazement and nervous fear. Despite this, Daenerys and Jorah had remained quite calm after what they had witnessed, with the Khaleesi inviting her to stay with her group still.

During the long ride, she had taken the time to question both Jorah and Daenerys about the world she was in. Jorah, while a simple man, knew much about both his home country of Westeros and the exotic lands of Essos. Her interest was mainly with Westeros, mainly Jorah's tales of the North and the harsh icy wasteland that lied beyond The Wall. With a bit of questioning he shared a bit about the myths of the land, mainly that of the Long Night and the mysterious White Walkers. While it was just guess, she had a feeling the creature she fought was one of them, maybe even their leader considering it's 'royal' appearance. Beyond that, she wasn't certain if the horned Walker was the source of the Frost or just an unknown aspect. Whatever the case, she had underestimated it and now had lost the element of surprise. She doubted she'd face the creature with its guard down, though she was unsure if killing it would even solve anything.

"More questions than answers." She'd muttered to herself before shifting to stand up, the sun now peeking up from behind the mountains. "Wish I had someone from home to help…figure out some meaning to all of this." However, she'd stop speaking to herself when she heard footsteps nearing her, making her glance back to see it was one of Dany's Bloodriders, Rakharo who had kept a close watch on her.

"Lady of Ash…Ciri..." He muttered, tone firm yet respectful manner. "The Khaleesi wishes for your company to discuss the next course of action."

"An odd title to give me. Is that what the rest of the Dothraki are calling me?" She asked curiously as she'd follow the tribal warrior towards Daenerys tent.

Rakharo nodded. "Its because of your hair and the way you…disappear. Like a cloud of ash flowing around you."

She had to admit that was a fitting description of how her teleporting powers appeared to other. It wasn't like other magic like the short distance teleporting or portals other magic users cast back home, so it made sense for her own abilities to look unique. She just hoped the use of her powers didn't scare the Dothraki too much, since she'd rather not turn their superstition into outright fear.

"Are your people that nervous about me?" She calmly asked, her gaze looking into the young warrior's eyes, wanting a truthful response.

The Bloodrider was silent for a long moment, yet he'd nod. "Your abilities are…strange yet powerful."

"But do you trust me despite them?"

"For now, yes. If the Khaleesi trusts you then I will as well." However, his gaze became stern before he continued to speak. "However if you betray or try to harm her, I swear by the Great Stallion we'll hunt you to the ends of the earth."

It was a blunt warning, one that Ciri deeply understood. She had met loyal individuals in the past, the Dothraki's look of conviction showing how deeply he supported Daenerys. The Dothraki no doubt knew the chances of beating her were nearly impossible, but that sense of duty and fearlessness earned her a new sense of respect towards him.

"Then I'm glad the Khaleesi has someone like you guarding her if he is willing to go that far."

The compliment seemed to catch the Dothraki by surprise which quickly to hide away. His stern gaze did relax though as Ciri's simple response meant a lot to him. The two soon reached Daenerys' tent, finding her and Jorah sitting down with a square piece of wood laid down between them to be a 'table' for some food and a medium sized map that detailed the Essos continent. Jorah has shown her the map before during the ride, giving her the basic run down on their current position in the Red Wastes. Standing close by were the other two Bloodriders who were standing guard by their Khaleesi while Rakharo remained by the tent flap leading out.

"Ciri, I take your rested well?" Daenerys greeted, giving a soft smile as the ashen haired woman moved to sit across from her.

"I'm used to camping and while the warm climate is different, it's more welcoming then the colder conditions I've endured recently." Her gaze drifted over the map, seeing a red stone which guessed was their current position. "So, I take your debating on our next course of action?"

"Indeed. After yesterday's encounter with the raiders, we know that heading northward is too risky since the Khals are actively looking for us. That leaves us only the south for us to travel…which leaves us few choices." He'd glance over the map, one finger pointing to a city marked to the southwest corner of the map, set on a peninsula that made up a strait to the uncharted Jade Sea. "The closest known city is Qarth, one of the wealthiest trade cities in the known world and self-proclaimed birthplace of all western civilization."

"'The greatest city that ever was or will be', I remember how Drogo talked about it with his fellow Khals. Many desired to raid it, though he knew better considering the city's history of repelling attacks." Daenerys commented. "The main problem is getting there. We have hundreds of miles of wasteland and plains to cross, which even with our extra supplies will be difficult."

Jorah had a grim look hint his face as he nodded. "Even with the extra water, we are still short on food. Our Bloodriders and gatherers can ease that, but it will slow us down." Pausing, he'd glance a bit away from the map. "We'll most likely take some losses if we press on southward."

"How many?" Dany asked calmly.

"A third of our numbers…mainly the children, elderly and weak." Jorah answered after a tense pause.

Ciri felt a sinking feeling over this fact and she had to agree. While the Dothraki were better suited for traveling in harsh conditions, she knew the simpler members had their limits. Looking at Daenerys, she could see a hard look in the young woman's eyes.

"So, what are you suggesting?"

Jorah didn't answer at first yet looking to the Bloodriders, it hinted that he had privately discussed the topic with them. Ciri knew the three warriors better understood traveling and surviving in this harsh region. "We may have to abandon some people such as the elderly, badly injured and sick, a fourth of our group."

Ciri could see how Daenerys gripped the worn skirt of her tribal garb, a hint of her frustration after hearing such advice from Jorah. "That is not a choice I am willing to make." She answered back in a tense if calm manner.

"Then more will die in the end Khaleesi. I don't like this plan any more then you do, but our focus is your survival and the majority of the Khalasar. Unless you have another way to ensure their protection, then these are our choices."

At that point Ciri spoke up. "Perhaps there is a way." Her remark drew curious looks from both Daenerys and Jorah. "The Thirteen of Qarth could get the supplies and mounts needed to get your people across the Red Wastes. All we'd need is a messenger to reach the city and plead for aid. If the Targaryen name has any power to it, they will surely understand the value of helping you." She'd pause, before looking right at Daenerys. "Surely, they won't decline with you baring three dragons, the first in centuries."

The doubtful look on Jorah's face faded slightly seeming to find the logic behind Ciri's words. He didn't speak up though as he'd glance to Daenerys, since he knew she had the final say in this matter.

"I agree. From what I know of these Thirteen, they will not be able to resist the curiosity of seeing my 'children'." However, Dany looked to the map once more. "But to send a messenger so far would have risks along with plenty of uncertainties. If anything went wrong, all my people could die."

"You forget who you are talking to." Ciri said with a small grin.

"That is kind of you to offer Ciri, though I feel you shouldn't be to hasty." Jorah quickly remarked. "No one here can doubt your abilities are impressive, however we don't fully understand them. Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to explain them and what your limitations are."

Ciri could understand Jorah's reasoning, though even she was unsure of what her powers were capable. It had taken years just to fully control her teleporting and phasing technique, a simple use of her untapped power. She remembered the moment Vesemir had been killed before her eyes and how she had just…snapped. The memory had become clearer over time, how she gave an ethereal scream that had nearly wiped out the whole Wild Hunt, nearly destroyed Kaer Morhen even.

"Its complicated. The issue is I don't know the limits of what I am capable of." Ciri admitted. "What I did yesterday was the simplest show of my abilities, little more then reflex that took years to master. Things like the attack I unleashed on the three riders and the chasing the last raider requires more focus which has become easy enough for me to use."

"So, what about…that portal that you came out of?" Jorah questioned.

"That was more of an instinctive move, a flight or fight reaction. It's happened in the past and I often have little control over it. At times it has even put me in dire situations, almost like what would've happened if you hadn't found me."

"Sounds like a curse considering." Dany muttered.

"It's controllable…well…in theory from what I've been told. I can travel hundreds if not thousands of miles so long as I know the destination I'm going for or have detailed coordinates." She excluded how arcane aid such as scrying or Avallac'h helping to direct her power. It was hard to enough to simplify how her Elder Blood worked, which she in turn barely understood.

"So, while sending you to Qarth would be a quick approach, there are possible risks." Jorah paused in though, brushing one hand over his scruffy chin. "For one, you could easily get lost if your…well…teleporting can be inaccurate, even more since you are still recovering. Also, there is the fact that you don't fully understand the customs and history of Essos as well. If you went representing the Khaleesi and a mishap happened, it could easily cause trouble for us. Even one of the Bloodriders are more versed in dealing with the Free Cities then you are currently."

Ciri felt a bit annoyed, though Jorah did have a point. While she wanted nothing more then to get Dany and her people to Qarth, rushing could easily cause more trouble for everyone. She'd think for a long moment, staring at the map closely. "Surely there must be someplace we can have the group encamp down. From what I understand, the Red Wastes have more of a grassland in the southern half. There must be someplace safe and fertile enough for the Khalasar to settle for a time before we send a messenger to Qarth."

Jorah was silent, seeming to have no answers, while Daenerys had her gaze locked with the map while her hands gripped tightly together in frustration. However, someone did spoke up though it was from the Bloodriders, the individual being Rakharo.

"Khaleesi. There may be one place we can seek refuge farther south." The Bloodrider calmly stated, drawing everyone's attention to him. "The veteran riders spoke of a ruined city in the southern plains, a place they visited whenever they scouted the farmlands of Qarth before they strengthened their watch."

"Any known history about these ruins?" Dany questioned.

"Could have been a possible city-state Qarth tried to establish to gain an inland trade route. It no doubt was abandoned because of lacking resources and the Dothraki threatening to raid it." Jorah commented. "It is no doubt centuries old and reclaimed by nature."

"Ruin or not, this could be the answer to our problems." Ciri quickly added. "Even if the city has fallen into ruin there will be no doubt strong foundations remaining for shelter, sources of water and natural food. Maybe we'll even have a bit of a road leading the rest of the way to Qarth."

"That is all possible. We shouldn't be so quick for such a hopeful outcome." Jorah looked to Daenerys, the young woman having a pondering look.

"Are you certain you know where this ruined city is?" She questioned her loyal Bloodrider.

Rakharo's gaze was unfaltering as he'd nodded. "On my honor and life Khaleesi. I will not lie though that it will be a hard trek for the others and our supplies will be put to the limit. We will endure for sure."

Daenerys stared at him for a long moment, a soft thankful smile crossing her lips. "Then I put my faith in you…in all of you." Her gaze looked about the tent, genuine respect to close advisors and protectors showing in her eyes. "I wish everyone except Ciri to have the Khalasar prepare to leave. It is best we leave early in the day while the sun is low."

"As you wish Khaleesi." Jorah bowed his head before standing up to leave, while the three Bloodriders followed, though seeming hesitant leaving their queen alone. Still, they obeyed her order as they too left the tent.

Now alone, Daenerys gave a tired sigh before standing up, moving to the back of the tent where three large wicker cages were set. When she neared them Ciri could hear the familiar murmuring and soft shriek sounds of the dragons, no doubt being woken up by their 'mother'. "Only a few days old and they can already move about so quickly." She chuckled as he let the three dragons crawl up onto her shoulders or be carried in her arms before she returned to where Ciri sat. "Mother of Dragons. A fitting title my people have already begun to call me."

"Indeed. It is a miracle really." Ciri commented as she'd shift closer, still amazed and curious of the small draconids.

She had studied much about dragons and sub-species that were related to them while training at Kaer Morhen, though they were obviously different from the ones from her own world. The biggest difference was that these dragons were only four limbed with their wings on the forearms, unlike her world's dragons which had their wings at their backs or shoulders.

"You're allowed to touch them. Just be careful of Drogon, he can be snappy towards others." Dany warned, glancing at the larger black scaled dragon that was on her shoulder."

Ciri moved one hand out, Drogon sniffing it curiously as he gave a murmuring growl. Soon though her fingers brushed along his smooth scales and the sharper spines that lined along his back. She could feel an odd tingling in her nerves the longer she touched the dragon, who seemed to nuzzle against her very fondly. Dragons were magically innate creatures, being powerful Sources as well, making it logical for the growing energy she felt flowing though. Perhaps in turn her Elder Power shared the same sensation to Drogon which would explain his positive reaction.

"Heh, either he's in a good mood or you have quite the natural affinity." Daenerys giggled as Drogon suddenly shifted to crawl onto ciri's shoulder, leaning in to give what was best described as an affectionate hiss. "I'll admit, I know little about dragons besides the tales others have told me. Some I'm unsure what is fact or myth."

Judging by the look the young Targaryen was giving, Ciri had an idea of what she was hinting at. "And you think I'd be best to educate you? I would be happy to share what I know but…you know they aren't the same."

"I know, but even some knowledge even from a differing world may decide if my children will survive or not." Gently he stroked the other two dragons, the creatures resting peacefully against her. "They haven't eaten much. They ate raw meat for a while, only now they nibble what is offered. At this rate they may even starve…"

Ciri now understood why Dany was seeking her aid on this matter. Already she'd think back over her studies about dragon growth cycles and habits. "Have you tried cooked meat?"

"Cooked?"

"Dragons, even young ones don't digest meat like other predators. Their bodies can properly break down cooked meat much like us, gaining more nutrition and thus grow more quickly."

The detailed explanation had Daenerys blink in surprise before chuckling, shaking her head. "Heh…how could I be so foolish. It makes perfect sense for creatures of fire to do so." Glancing about, she'd gesture to one of the packs before holding her arms out to Drogom who returned to her.

Ciri got up to hurry to the pack, shifting through to find dried meat wrapped up among other rations. Returning to Dany, she'd hold out the pieces which drew the three young dragons attention before all of them struggled to reach their necks out to get the first pieces. Drogon was the fastest and strongest as he'd give a warning snap to his brothers before gobbling up the biggest piece. Daenerys took a few more offered pieces to make sure all three were well fed.

"Seems they like the dried meat for now, though they'll no doubt crave fresher meals as they grow." Ciri remarked. "Beyond that, they need plenty of space and exercise, so try not to keep them too cooped up in those cages."

"Of course." For a moment Daenerys was silent as she'd set fed the last pieces of meat to her dragons before letting them crawl about around her, exploring the tent. "I know this is a bit early to discuss, but we do have prepare for your…well…cover story. I assume you don't plan to reveal your powers or share the truth about yourself to everyone of importance."

"Wouldn't be the first time I've had to deceive. Despite my honesty with your group, I can be quite the proficient actress if needed." The ashen haired woman's tone having a mischievous side to it. "When you found me, everyone mistook me for a Valyrian. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage when we arrive at Qarth."

"I think I already have an idea of what you have in mind." Dany stood up and would round up her dragons, the creatures following or letting the young woman pick them up to be put back inside the wicker cages. "Who is to say that my father had a secret daughter with noblewoman or servant, someone who was secreted away suddenly. Considering the many rumors, such a tale would seem tame."

"So…I play the part of a bastard daughter of your late father, Aerys Targaryen. Raised in the erotic and harsh lands of Essos, a skilled sellsword who has revealed herself in her younger sister's time of need." Her words having a dramatic flare to it. "I'm sure I'll create a deeper history to my 'story' as I learn more about Essos and your family history."

"I'll do my best to teach you as much about my family's history, while Jorah does his part in sharing more about Essos. By the time we reach Qarth you'll be quite convincing to the Thirteen."

Nodding, Ciri shifted for the flap out of the tent, feeling there was nothing else left to discuss and that she too should prepare to leave. "Hopefully. Let's focus on getting to this ruined city first before thinking that far ahead."

"Right…" Dany seemed slightly concerned being reminded that the journey ahead was going to be quite difficult. Despite Ciri being supportive on protecting the Dothraki, even she knew there was going to be loss and hardship ahead.

Leaving the tent, Ciri made her way back to her campsite though noticed a group of Dothraki men and women heading for Dany's tent. She guessed Jorah had sent them to help pack the Khaleesi's shelter and her few belongings. As they passed by, they gave short nods or bows to her, muttering with their native tongue a respectful greeting, at least from what she guessed by their calm tones. Reaching her camp, she'd work on packing away her bedroll and other supplies, though paused when she felt a strange chill go through her.

For most of her life she had been on the run. From her own father's agents, Vilgefortz cruel minions and then the Wild Hunt. Over that time, she had gotten a natural reaction of being spied on, even by magical means. Still, she glanced about on a reflex to see no one spying her, considering the barren surroundings lacked any suitable places to for someone to hide from her. Right now, she wished she had Vizimir's medallion to help sense for magical use, so for now she had only her gut instinct. After the conflict with the Wild Hunt, she planned to never run or hide from any threat again…not with the great power she wielded.

 **She sensed us.**

 _ **Does it matter?**_

 **No. She is new to this world. Blind to its truths. She knows nothing of us**

 _ **She is powerful. Raw energy. Greater than anything we have ever seen.**_

 **Her and the dragons. It is not a coincidence. They are connected.**

 _ **Yes. The Red Comet. It has awakened the world at long last.**_

 **The Mother of Dragons and the Daughter of Fate**

 _ **They bring the new age forward. They will be key to our rise.**_

 **We must prepare…**

…

 **Geralt – Dragonstone – Late Morning**

The Witcher's eyes snapped open as he heard echoing footsteps from the open hallway that lead into the map room. He'd realize that it was late into the morning, seeing the sun high over the sea from the stone balcony he kneeled on. Shifting up to stand, he'd stretch about as he walked back into the map room and towards the entranceway, curious to see who was coming to see him. As the footsteps neared, he'd soon see that it was Davos who was carrying a sizable tray with food on it.

"Ah you're up already." He remarked, hurrying to the stone map to set the food down. "Hope you rested well. Can't say I know anyone who'd sleep the whole night up here when it gets so chilly."

"I've meditated or slept in harsher places in the past. Besides, needed a bit of peace and quiet after the last few days." Moving over to the laid-out food, he'd quickly pick up a fresh roll bread to take a bite before taking a gulp from the mug of milk. "How are Sansa and Arya doing right now?"

"Just saw them in the dining hall. Only spoke to them for a short while, but they seemed to have rested well enough. Lady Sansa seemed anxious to begin the negotiations, though I told her such a meeting would take some to organize. Beyond that, she's taken to the library for the moment." Davos paused as he'd pick out a bit of food for himself. "As for Arya, she is already off exploring Dragonstone. Told her not to go to the cliffs or rocky shores unless she has a someone watching her. She's an agile one, but even she can make mistakes."

"Hopefully she'll listen to those warnings. Still I'll try to find her later today to make sure she's alright." Pausing in thought, Geralt continued to speak. "Realized there was one subject we didn't discuss with Stannis last night, the matter on Gendry."

"Ah…right…the blacksmith lad…" Davos tone seemed hesitant, a hint of trouble ahead. "Well we did have more serious issues to deal with last night, having Lord Stannis agree to making an alliance with the North. It easily slipped our minds."

"I have a feeling that his reactions from earlier has you worried for Gendry's safety, considering the lengths he is willing to go to take the Iron Throne."

Davos sighed and nodded. "I respect and owe Stannis much, but lately he has become more aggressive. Gendry may be a bastard; however he could be a complication to the succession to the Iron Throne or even contest it under the right circumstances. Course the boy has no desire for rulership, though after last night…I fear Stannis may take to harm to the boy."

"So, he doesn't know for now."

"Aye. He no doubt thinks Gendry is just a recruit on my ship. For now, I've gotten the boy sent to the workshop and forge, let him do his craft and blend in with the other workers. He's a quiet but seems to enjoy having some work to distract himself."

"I'll have to talk to him soon then, get an idea of how he's feeling. Though, perhaps it would be best if we take him to the North and put him under Robb's protection. I'm sure he would do so for Robert's son, bastard or not."

"Perhaps…just wish the lad didn't have to go through all of this to begin with."

"I agree, so for now we'll do our best to protect him." Giving a small sigh, Geralt finished up the last of his breakfast before speaking again. "So, about Melisandre, I think there is something more about her then simple faith and trickery."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"As in her visions may very well be real." He'd pause as he'd see the doubtful look on the old sailor's face. "I know you dislike her, but she told me things only I know…things I haven't shared to anyone."

"Like what?"

"About my daughter Ciri and the threat she is facing against. She claims to be against this looming danger except she seems to expect me ask her first for straight answer."

"Sounds more like she wants something from you."

Geralt only nodded in response to that matter. The way the Red Priestess spoke had been suggestive, so much like his many past encounters with seductive sorceresses and erotic women. There was an allure and real magic about her which he couldn't underestimate.

"Everyone is after something, though it seems to mainly be one ugly and very uncomfortable chair." His dry but sarcastic tone had Davos chuckle, lightening up the mood slightly. "Trust me, I can deal with Melisandre. I've dealt with plenty of women like her, so she won't be able to sway me like the others."

"Then I'll put my faith in your confidence then." Davos put the empty cups and plates back on the tray before he continued to speak. "Enough politics though. Dragonstone may not be a cheery place, but there is much to do see around the island."

The two left the map room to begin the long walk down through Dragonstone, giving him a clear view over the surrounding island and sea now that it was day time. He could fully understand why no one had been able to successfully siege this island, considering the natural barrier the ocean and cliffs provided along with the fortress's resilient design. Though there was the issue of supplies, since the barren island lacked food resources to endure for an extended time. That weakness had nearly killed Stannis and all his men on Storm's End, which was even more rocky then even this lone isle. Funny how it took someone like Davos to save them because of his illegal profession.

"So, I'm curious, how did you smuggle yourself and all that food onto Storm's End. Must have been a tricky getting so much moved without being noticed."

"Bit by bit really." Davos chuckled. "Used the cover of night with a few row boats with black tarps going to a hidden cove that only a few know about. Took a long time to get everything they needed, enough to hold everyone out through that siege."

The two had soon reached the main courtyard area to see Stannis men busy doing training drills, maintaining their gear or doing chores. Everyone seemed focused on their differing duties, only those who they passed by taking the time to give a short greeting to them. Geralt soon noticed Beric with his remaining men, who had their own side of the yard to themselves. The small group seemed more at ease after a peaceful night of sleep and good few meals. Beric quickly noticed the two approaching them, giving a welcoming grin as he'd walk over to greet them.

"Rested well I take Geralt?"

"Well enough. Still have a lot of work ahead of me."

"We all do. This coming war isn't going to be a quick one that's for sure." Beric muttered, a grim look in his eyes. "Just glad we have someone like you on our side. Can't imagine how events would have played out at the capital."

"No need to keep reminding me. Right now, I'd like to put that into the past and focus on what we do from here on." Geralt paused for a moment as Beric nodded in agreement. "Right now, we're guests under Lord Stannis, which can change if Robb doesn't make the right choices."

Beric nodded in agreement. "I've noticed our host's men is keeping a close eye on us. Its almost as if they think we're going to do something reckless." Though the mention did have Beric chuckle, since they had escaped from the most well-guarded city on the continent. That accomplishment alone would have even the most harden soldiers on edge around them.

"For now, just have your men well rested. It best we're prepare for any surprises be it from Stannis or anyone else."

"I'll be sure to do that along with informing you of anything odd among the other soldiers." Giving a short parting nod, Beric returned to his group to privately rely their new orders.

Geralt glanced back to Davos as the two walked away from Beric's group, moving more towards the center of the yard. "Feels wrong to me that there can be a conflict between the Starks and Stannis. The Lannisters are the real threat right now."

"I agree; however he has a stricter way of thinking compared to us. It won't be easy to find compromise with him, so we'll have to be just as direct and unyielding as him."

"Then yesterday was a good start. I just hope that approach will work." Before Davos could say anything more, the two noticed someone Barristand and Sansa approaching them from the keep.

"Ser Davos…Geralt. Having a good morning I take?" The old knight formally greeted to them both, Sansa remaining silent but giving a respectful nod towards Davos.

"Normal overall." Geralt simply answered back before looking to Sansa. "How has your stay been so far Sansa? Everything comfortable for you?"

The young woman nodded. "Dragonstone may be a gloomy place, yet the quarters in the Keep are quite pleasant along with the servants and guards being courteous to me." She'd pause though, a more concerned look in her eyes as she shifted closer to speak in a more hushed voice. "Is it true Lord Stannis threatened to war with Robb if he didn't swear to loyalty to him?"

Geralt knew that Barristan was the one who told her this news, though that was expected. Sansa needed to be more aware of the intrigue and politics around her, unlike the situation back in King's Landing where she was shut out by everyone. "To be blunt…yes. It will all come down to your brother's choice. We both know though he'll make the right one."

Sansa showed that familiar look of worry in her eyes, quickly hiding away that emotion to avoid looking weak before everyone. "He will. I'm sure of it."

"Then let's focus on what we can do here Lady Sansa." Barristan added. "Besides protecting her, I have offered my council to her to prepare her to speak with Lord Stannis and his advisors. Considering how many matters you have to attend to, tutoring her in politics can be one task left to me."

"Don't envy you teaching that. Considering how often I anger lords and kings, I'd be quite the poor teacher on proper diplomacy." Barristan and Davos chuckled at the sarcastic remark while Sansa had a small hint of amusement show in her colorful eyes. "Jokes aside, is there anything else of interest to share with us?'

"Well…Arya has left the Keep to explore the cliffs around the island. She's has Thoros watching her though, so she should be safe enough." Barristan replied. "You'll needn't worry about him drinking as well. The man seems to be been quite sober since we've left the capital, so he'll be more focused now."

It was a bit surprising that Thoros would be taking up bodyguard duty. It seemed everyone who had been present during the betrayal at the Red Keep were taking more proactive roles in protecting Eddard's daughters.

"Guess I know where I'm going next then." Geralt remarked back.

"Then I think this is where we part for now. I have a few personal matters to attend to, though I'll make sure to check up on Gendry for you. Just promise me you'll try to visit him later today or tomorrow."

The Witcher nodded in agreement before the sea captain walked back for the Keep, leaving Geralt with Barristan and Sansa. "So, do you know which part of the cliffs Arya went for? A general direction will do, I'm sure I'll be able to track them."

"Not that much space on the island really. The northern end has the most open ground, so I'm certain that's where she'll be."

"Then I best head that way." He'd give parting nod to the two. "I'll see both of you back at the Keep later tonight."

The three parted ways, with Sansa and Barristan heading back into the main Keep, while Geralt made his way through the grand gates and leave the dark stone fortress. He'd walk along the long stone path that connected the main fortress to the docks and warehouses that were set by the rocky shoreline, until finding a trail that lead off towards the surroundings cliffs. The surrounding remained quite barren as he moved further away from the fortress, until he'd soon see the vast stretch of grassy plateau. The flat high plain gave a wide view of the vast ocean, making it easy to spot even the smallest ship from countless miles.

"Perfect for a stronghold full of dragons. No ship would be able to siege such a place with such a creature burning them." Geralt muttered to himself, understanding one reason why the Targaryen's had built their home here.

It wasn't hard to find Arya and Thoros since the flat area had them stand out. The two were nearby the cliffs and from the Witcher could tell having a duel of some kind. The Red Priest had found a sturdy long stick which he was swinging about at the young girl. Arya was constantly on the move as she'd back step, duck and twist about to avoid the large man's attacks. She also used Needle to block and redirect any blows that slipped pass her agile defense, giving her time to reposition.

"Hah! Very good!" Thoros bellowed out as the two finished their short bout once they noticed the Witcher approaching. "Have to hand it to you Geralt, you and Syrio have taught this one well. Moves like a viper while having the tenacity of a wolf, which is expected of course."

A confident grin hinted the girl's lips from hearing Thoros compliment, making Geralt shake his head slightly in amusement. "Best cut down on the praise else it will go to her head. I'll admit she has a solid defense, though her offense needs to be worked on."

"Its not easy considering…" Arya remarked with a hint of frustration. "I know I need to target the joints and unarmored spots, but it's difficult to get an open even when I pull off a good parry!"

The Witcher nodded in understanding as he'd pace closer to the two. "Guess it time to focus beyond just dueling style and technique. In fact, Thoros will be a good…substitute teacher for Syrio."

"Teaching isn't really my thing you know Geralt." Thoros replied.

"Would you prefer training dummy instead?"

"Fine…teacher will do." The Red Priest grumbled, making an amused smirk hint the Witcher's face and a slight giggle from Arya. "So, my guess is you need to tell the little one how she's going to deal with someone better armored like me right?"

Geralt nodded as he'd look to Arya who'd move to a nearby boulder to sit on, resting a bit while paying close attention to the two. "That is correct. Arya could take on unarmored or lightly armored opponents, however someone like you or even a well-armed soldier can prove more difficult." He'd pace around Thoros who stood by still, gesturing at the man's mix of robes and worn armor. "You may know the weak spots but need ways to exploit them."

"Beyond just out-maneuvering and parring? I know you and Thoros mix in punches at times but…" She'd give a short shrug, pointing out her slim arms.

"Heh, you're much more fit then most girls your age, even ones tolling on a farm. Still I see the issue since you'd be cracking your knuckles just striking at against chainmail." The Red Priest remarked with a chuckle.

"Which is why you need a little touch up to your gear. Need some proper leather clothing for better protection, yet not limiting your speed. I think some reinforced gloves and steel toed boots would help you deal some surprise attacks of your own. I'm sure Gendry could work on crafting it."

The mention of the blacksmith had a faint grin hint the girl's face, who nodded in agreement. "So, since that will take a while…could you teach me about those magic tricks you used before back in King's Landing?"

"My Signs you mean?" It made sense the girl had seen him use them during their escape from the capital, the display of power no doubt sparking interest in her young mind. Even glancing at Thoros he could tell the priest was just as eager to learn more of the Witcher's magical prowess. "Its…not something I can simply teach you or anyone really."

"Why is that? When you threw Jaime off the stage or shot out fire all I saw you do was make a gesture…umm…" Arya struggled to angle her fingers in the Igni pose while giving an annoyed scowl.

"Not as simple as it looks." The Witcher smirked, making the girl give a small sigh of defeat.

"So there is more to just making a gesture, right?" Thoros questioned.

Geralt nodded. "Beyond the gesture, learning a Sign takes weeks or months of intense mediation to…'understand' it. Some trainees with natural talent learn, though all Witchers can use Signs once they had gone through the changes."

"So, you have more tricks beyond shooting fire and tossing people around with a wave of your hand?"

"Yes, though I think it be would be better to show you. I need someone to practice them against, want to make sure they are working normally."

"Because of how you passed out on the night of the comet? Had a feeling there was something more to you collapsing." The man stretched a bit, seeming ready for the Witcher. "Alright then, guess this be a good lesson for me as well. If I plan to travel with you, better I know what your fully capable."

"If you're willing." Still, Geralt knew he had to be careful using his Signs since he felt so empowered ever since coming to this world. The last thing he wanted to do was accidently kill the priest in front of Arya. "Let's start with a Sign I haven't used, a defensive one called Quen." Deftly, he quickly made the Sign, a bright shimmer coursing over his body before fading which drew a surprised gasp from Arya and a curious look from Thoros. Geralt felt no strain on his body like before and knew the Sign was at its usual strength. In fact, the casting felt easier to do then even when he was back on his own world.

"Nifty light show, though you don't look any more protected to me."

"Draw your sword and strike me then." Geralt spread his arms out, leaving himself completely open for an attack.

Thoros expression became quite serious. He didn't react at first, staring down the Witcher before suddenly drawing it sword and striking out, putting his full speed and strength to that blow. The blade came down at Geralt's right shoulder, a cleaving blow.

"NO!" Arya yelled out before there was a resounding bang and crackle as energy sparked out from where the blade made contact.

Thoros cursed out, body jolting back as he was shocked by the protective magic. It was a good thing Geralt hadn't focused enough power into the Sign, else the man could have faced a more lethal charge. "Guh…by the flames…" The Red Priest quickly saw how Geralt had even shifted an inch after that attack. "You didn't even flinch, and my damn arm is numb after that." He'd rub over the limb, chuckling.

"That's how useful Quen is. We both know that even an experienced warrior can't avoid every hit, especially when greatly outnumbered. One lucky blow can easily end you or leave you open for follow up attacks. Slow long as I maintain Quen I can keep up a perfect defense."

"Amazing…but why do I think it can do more than that?" Arya questioned excitedly.

"If given even focus, I can make Quen block more than one blow and even give a dangerous shock to whoever hits me." He'd glance to Thoros who had just shook off the numbness he felt. "Also, I can create a wider shield too." Again, he'd made the Sign but held it this time a transparent yellow bubble formed around him, warding him from all angles.

"Woah! Now that is impressive looking." Thoros had his sword blade drag along the surrounding shield, the surface ripple like water, along with being unyielding when he pressed the weapon against it. "Bet a unit of archers wouldn't be able to hit you."

"I'll admit I've never tested this against such an attack." He'd drop the shield, flexing his hand since keeping the Sign was tiring on the fingers. "The full ward is a stronger defense, although I can't fight back and taking too many blows will exhaust me."

"Hmm…makes sense, the effort put in having equal stress." Thoros commented. "What else is there?'

"Yrden. You can say it's a mixed Sign, good for offense and defense." Geralt made the gesture before pressing his hand to the ground, making a wide circle of purple runes to appear.

"Wow!" Arya gawked a bit since this was the flashiest display of magic the Witcher had shown yet, making her hop from his sitting spot and moving closer to the circle. She paced around it carefully, unsure what would happen if she stepped into the ring.

"It should be safe for both of you. Yrden only has an effect when someone hostile to me enters it."

On cue, Thoros gave a sudden yell and lunge, going for a jabbing punch at Geralt. The Witcher did see it coming but didn't move as the man passed through the runic ring, only to start moving at a snail's pace. Confusion crossed the man's face as he realized what was going on, all while the Witcher casually walked around to avoid the blow.

"That is what happens when an enemy enters this circle. Yrden's binding properties can even affect more…otherworldly things, at least from where I come from." Again, he's make the Sign, dispelling the circle and making Thoro nearly tumble onto his face.

"Damn Geralt…I knew you were different, but these abilities of yours…" The man shook his head, seeming a bit shaken with all of this. "I doubt anyone could beat you between your swordsmanship, these Signs and whatever tricks you still haven't shown."

Geralt was silent as the hardened warrior priest gave that statement, making Arya give a pondering look as well. Indeed, the Witcher hadn't faced many defeats against another human, the only one being against the powerful sorcerer Vilgefortz. The man had been a master of the magical arts and spent a lifetime honing his physical combat skills, making him a more fearsome foe to even the Eredin of the Wild Hunt. It was kind of amusing that a simple illusion and luck had been all the Witcher needed to take down that mad man in the end.

"Hopefully I won't face anyone that will push me that far." Indeed, he wasn't sure how much more powerful he had become since the Red Comet. One detail he hadn't shared with either Thoros was the fact that he was actively using minimal power to his Signs, since even a normally charged one could prove harmful to the man thanks to the magically empowered world. "Any way, I think I've demonstrated enough. I expect you two to keep what I've shown to yourselves…rather not have everyone knowing my secrets."

"Never been loose with my words even when lost in drink. Consider your secrets safe with me." Thoros remarked with a nod.

Arya was silent before quickly nodding as well, a sharper look in her eyes as she took this matter quite seriously. "So, if I can't learn Signs what can you teach me then?"

"For now, we need to keep honing your fighting style, personalize it more for you along with expanding your adaptability. Improving your strength and dexterity with tougher exercises will be our next focus." He'd think for a moment, wanting to start a basic test for her. "Set your sword aside for now. Let's truly test your reflex and agility."

"Right." Arya set Needle aside on the boulder as she'd follow Geralt to a clear area that lacked any rocks or debris that they could trip over. Thoros stood by to watch as the Witcher set his own sword aside before turning to face the young Stark, the two a dozen yards apart. "So, what are we going to do exactly?"

"You rely on your mobility to fight and defend, which means you must not have any flaws with your movements." Geralt shifted into a fighting stands, tense to quickly move forward. "For this test, you can't strike back or fall. Understood?"

The blunt challenge had Arya shift slightly, nervous since the Witcher's gaze had a quite stern look to it. She'd soon shift her own stance, ready for her test as she'd give a short nod to him. At that point Geralt rushed her, the short sprint truly showing off his inhuman speed as he quickly closed the distance between them. The young girl was obviously shocked, already back stepping away as he barely avoided a sweeping shove from the Witcher. Yet it was a distracting move as his left foot was out, making the girl tumble down onto her back as she tripped in her hurry to get away from him.

"Ugh…so quick…" She muttered, shifting to get up despite the rough fall. "Did you have to move so…fast?"

"This isn't going to be like the fencing lessons. This is Witcher training now." Geralt paced back to be at the same starting distance, ready for another round. "If you can match my speed and predict my moves, you'll be able to outpace anyone in Westeros. Avoiding the first move was a good start…so let's continue."

By now Arya stood up, seeming to understand how difficult training was about to become. Taking a deep breath, she'd tense up in a readied stance before nodding to begin. Once more Geralt lunged forward, this time the young Stark not being startled by his sudden movement. The Witcher repeated the same moves, the sweeping shove and the back-leg trip, this time Arya avoiding the last move as she'd hop over it. Geralt followed up with a short shoulder charge, Arya twisting to get further away only to get struck to the side of the head by his elbow as he turned about as well. The blow was enough to make her lose balance and again fall, wincing as she'd rub the spot she had been hit at.

"That hurt…" She grumbled as she took a moment to catch her breath.

"And I pulled back on that blow. Imagine how a true strike would have been for you." He calmly stated as again he return to the starting distance. "If you let me force you into a certain move, you'll be exposed for a follow up attack." He'd wait for Arya stand up again. "Once more."

The same spar played out again and again, Geralt always doing the same moves in the same order. Arya refined each move as she followed the pattern, avoiding the same mistakes and recognizing what movements to avoid doing based on the situation. It wasn't easy for her though as she'd be tripped, knocked or thrown about whenever Geralt was able to outsmart her. After a few hours, Geralt stopped as Arya stayed down this time, gasping for breath from exhaustion. Her hair was messed up and the constant falls had her covered in grass and dirt.

"That is enough. You did well today, better than expected." Geralt remarked, seeming unfazed after the long practice they had done.

"Think you pushed the lass a bit too much. Girl be lucky to stand at all tomorrow." Thoros chuckled, the man having remained silent during their training. The man got up and stretch a bit while Geralt moved over to Arya, offering a hand to help her up. "Can't imagine what the more serious lessons will be."

"All Witcher lessons are considered serious." Geralt stated back as he'd pull Arya up, the girl shaky on her feet though standing mostly on her own. "Not too roughed up right? When we get back to the Keep I can get something to ease any pain or soreness from the Maester."

Arya nodded, seeming too tired to speak as she'd cling a bit to Geralt's arm for support as the trio started to head back to the distant fortress. Again, this brought a feeling a déjà vu to the Witcher as he'd look down at the young Stark who just glanced back at him with those gray colored eyes.

"You did well today. Most trainees didn't get as far as you for so long."

The simple praise had a faint smile hint the girl's face, easing the tired look she had. After the short walk back to the black stone keep, Arya shift away from Geralt to walk on her own as the neared the main path leading to the gates. While she was roughed up, she didn't want to seem injured or weak to anyone in the courtyard. The mix of soldiers and servants working about still, showing things were overall calm in the Keep.

"You two should head in for a late lunch while I go to the forges to take care of a few matters."

Thoros gave a short nod before he'd move on ahead to the main keep and for the dining hall, stopping at the doors as Arya lingered to speak with the Witcher. "Tell Gendry I said hello. Maybe…well…I'll try to visit him later this week."

"I'll be sure to do that. Now go eat and rest up, tomorrow we're going to continue with a new exercise, so I want you fit for the next morning."

She'd quickly nod, giving that sharp look of determination. "I'll be ready. Promise."

With a light pat on the shoulder, Geralt watched her hurry off to the main keep with Thoros following her. The Witcher stood by for a moment to think over the girl's first day, which had indeed been a successful start. He knew it was going to be tiring and rough for her, but she showed the same commitment the rest of her hearty family showed.

"May just have what it takes." He muttered to himself before heading into the keep as well and finding the stairway down into the dark depths of Dragonstone's underground.

…

Geralt had visited many vast ruins and underground passageways in his long life, yet the passages of Dragonstone rivaled them. Considering the place was hundreds of years old along with being a mix of natural and constructed chambers, the vast space could very well spread across the whole island. While he nearly got turned around in the shadowy passages, his sharp senses helped him pick out the stand on banging metal and bellowing fires among the whispering winds blowing through this place.

The chamber that housed the old forges were quite large, which made sense considering the unique design about the many smelting and smithing devices around. The forges were a mix of black stone and metal, designed like much of Dragonstone to be stylized as roaring dragons. Whenever the nearby bellows were worked hard, it makes the flame surge out as if the stone dragon was trying to spew flames. Geralt saw how the ceiling also had holes borrowed out across it, letting the smoke and heat flow out to the surface. Still the air was hot and thick, making the Witcher already sweat in his leather clothing.

His attention focused onto the workers, smiths and craftsman busy repairing or forging new gear for the soldiers above. They seemed to have plenty of materials on hand thanks to the supplies Davos had been providing over the last few months, enough to arm a small army at least. With so many people about, it was difficult to pick out Gendry, so he focused on seeking out the foreman. It wasn't hard to find the man considering his attire was made of finer material and the fact his booming voice was constantly giving out orders.

"Keep fuel going for those flames! I don't want any delays on the latest orders!" The short-bearded man noticed Geralt approaching, his snarled expression becoming a friendlier one. "Ser Geralt! An honor to have you visit us down here." The took firmly shook hands before the foreman continued. "I was at King's landing during the tournament. Always enjoy seeing the fights and seeing the finest arms the men use, though I can say yours were the most impressive."

"Thank you. I take you have quite the experience working here?"

"Aye. Been here since the Rebellion two decades back. Was little more than a journeyman at the time, though my efforts got me noticed by Lord Stannis. When I was requested to come serve here, I didn't hesitate to say yes." The two started to stroll around the chamber, watching the smiths at work. "Dragonstone forges are one of Westeros's oldest and finest, though admittedly not fully understood. I thought they'd hold answers to Valyrian steel. Sadly my experiments have not gained any tangible results."

Geralt simply nodded as he listened. Considering what Mott had shared, he knew well what was missing to the forging process for such fine weapons. Still, he had to feel impressed by the foreman's ambition and dedication to his craft. "Can say this forge outclasses anything from my home, though the one at Mott could be considered a good equal."

"Heh! Perhaps…the man does have odd techniques and knowledge on his side, though I doubt it match what to the Valyrians." The man waved one hand about. "Bah, but you're not here to yammer on such history and debate. What do you need of us Witcher?"

"Want to talk to one of your workers, a young lad by the name of Gendry. He was part of our group from Ser Davos ship."

"Ah that lad!" The man nodded towards one of the anvils where the young man was busy hammering out a new blade across it. Considering his age, the boy was quite fit and seemed quite focused on his task even as the two approached. "Boy's been working all nonstop. So far, the quality of his crafts matches some of my top workers, even though he claims his teacher to have been a simple man."

Geralt guessed Gendry was trying not to reveal too much of his past to the people here at Dragonstone, perhaps for his safety or to avoid attention. If they knew he had been apprenticed to one of Westeros most praised smiths, he'd be constantly bothered. "Must have been a humble yet talented master then."

The foreman gave a short shrug as they'd walk up to Gendry who'd finish up on the sword before sinking it down in a large bucket of water and then setting it aside to fully cool. Wiping sweat off his brow, he'd at last notice the foreman and Geralt, giving a short respectful nod to them both. "My lords."

"Heh no need for lording with me boy. Ser Geralt only wanted to check up on you." The foreman chuckled, giving a firm pat on the boy's shoulder.

"Would prefer to talk privately with him. Think he's earned a break?" Geralt asked.

"See no harm. Lad hasn't taken much time off today and has met the quota. Can take the rest of the day if he wishes." The foreman glanced to Gendry who remained silent, only giving a short nod to answer back.

"Then let's go." Geralt turned and moved to leave the forge, only pausing to make sure Gendry followed once the boy grabbed any of his personal tools to put back on his belt. The two walked out of the hot chamber and into the cooler passages ways, moving through the maze a bit until the Witcher stopped. "So…settling in just fine?"

"Yes, but I know that isn't why you're here Geralt." Gendry muttered. "Something has come up after you spoke to my uncle hasn't it."

For a moment Geralt didn't answer, trying to think of a proper answer to give back. "Lord Stannis is…complicated."

"You mean as stern and stubborn as the rumors go." Gendry bluntly stated.

"He has a dead set view on about the world, with a determination to taking his rightful place on the Iron Throne. He had some…extreme thoughts about whoever oppose him."

"Like the Lannisters…Lord Robb…Me?"

The boy again showed that observative wit, the same kind his father had at times. "I haven't told him the truth about you…not yet."

"Because your worried of what he may do to me?'

"It's a precaution."

Gendry clenched his fists now in a show of frustration. "So, what do you suggest? That I run again if he plans to kill me like the Lannisters?"

"Lord Robb would accept you under his protection. He's a trustworthy and-"

"But what if that doesn't work out? What if Stannis demands he hands me over? Do I run again…until I have to cower beyond the Wall just to be safe?!" The young man snapped those last words out.

"That won't happen!" Geralt spoke sternly, making Gendry snap out of his anger. "Most is uncertain now, yet I won't let fear or doubt muddle my choices. It shouldn't for you." Giving a small sigh, Geralt put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll find the right moment to talk to Stannis, once I'm sure he has no intents to harm you. For now, just on focus your craft and bonding with the other smiths."

Gendry relaxed his hands, giving a short nod before that hand left his shoulder. For a moment, he seemed ready to remark back before deciding otherwise. "Will that be all Ser?"

"I do have a small request…more of a request from Arya really." The mention of the young Stark brought a curious look in Gendry's eyes. "She needs proper armor for training and travel. I have designs that should help you craft…that is if you can handle leatherworking."

"Heh…just because you see me working metal doesn't mean I can't do leathercrafting." A show of pride showed on the man's face now. "I can request the foreman for supplies-"

"No need for that. I can get you all the materials need, top quality stuff. Just be sure to do this project on your off time."

"Of course." Gendry paced about slightly, seeming a bit restless. "May I go now Ser? I feel I'll be resting for the rest of the day."

"Nothing else Gendry." Geralt was unsure what else to say to the boy, since overall his future was uncertain right now. However, he was dead set on making sure he was safe along with the rest of his companions. "I'll see you tomorrow with the blueprints and supplies. Until then." With a parting nod, he'd turn to disappear down the dark corridor towards the way out of the underground, leaving Gendry by himself.

…

 **Gendry**

Taking a deep breath as he'd flop down onto the simple bed he had, having at least been given a small private room that he had been given close to the workshop and forge. He liked the privacy yet always felt on edge in this gloomy place. While part of him hated the idea of running, he'd have no regrets leaving this place.

"Damn fate…or luck…" He cursed to himself as he shifted up to sit on his bed, one foot accidently knocking over his travel pack with spilled out some of its contents. Quickly, he'd shift down to collect it, though noticed one item that wasn't his own. It was a small black leather notebook with the mark of his master's free city on it, a black goat being the symbol. He always seen the master smith writing in this book, making him wonder what was in it and why the man had snuck this into his pack. Curiosity won over as he'd open it and began to read.

 _ **To my apprentice Gendry,**_

 _ **I'm sorry we did not have a chance to speak formally before having to send you away, yet time was limited. Conflict is certain and hopefully you will be far from it. As for me, my actions in aiding Geralt's group will no doubt put me at risk unless fate and luck are on my side. Do not worry for me, for this was my choice to make and I will face whatever consequences it brings.**_

 _ **Whatever my fate, I have entrusted you with a copy of my personal notes on forging. It's no secret that I have longed to rediscover the secrets of Valyrian Steel and recently I have had a breakthrough thanks to the Witcher. My notes detail the process I've learned, yet the key step to smelting requires dragon fire.**_

 _ **I know you will be at Dragonstone by the time reading this, a place where the Targaryens kept many secrets of their reign. There could be an alternative method the Valyrian's may have had, otherwise ways of creating their steel has died with the dragons.**_

 _ **You're a sharp lad and have your father's unyielding determination. He was a flawed man, yet deep down he did care for you and wanted to live a normal life. I hope that your travels will be safe in these troubled times and that we may one day meet again.**_

 _ **From, Master Tobho Mott**_

Finishing the letter, Gendry gave a low sigh and bowed his head slightly. He had to admit that while Mott had been a strict teacher, he had been the closest one to being a father figure to him. Part of was worried for the master smith, though had to trust the man was capable enough to stay safe. What conflicted him the most was the man's comments about his father, Robert Baratheon.

"Did he ever care for anyone? Seemed like it was only himself." He muttered to himself in frustration. After all, Robert was the one who abandoned his mother to raise him up and then die to sickness. Even if he did put him under Mott's care, that didn't make up for leaving her. What angered him the most was how people like Mott and Geralt claimed the man felt regret for his selfish actions.

Gritting his teeth, he put those thoughts aside as he'd read through the book until he saw the later notes. The notes detailed the exact steps to what made up Valyrian steel, most of it being quite rare and exotic mix of metals from what he knew. The latter half of the notes though was more…mystical, showing sketches of runes and arcane rites.

"Don't even understand any of this." Already the boy wondered if Geralt would understand these diagrams, since Mott had mentioned the Witcher aiding his research. He was conflicted on involving the Witcher, considering the man had so much to handle already.

"Once I search this place…then I'll ask him." Taking a deep breath, he'd shut the book before finding some gray cloth to wrap it up to cover up the fine leather book, so it didn't stand out if he was ever searched. Packing it away, he'd lay back on the worn bed with a weary sigh. "A bastard born son of one of Westeros' greatest warriors…now hunted by one of the land's most ruthless House's…all while seeking lost knowledge of Valyria." He'd chuckle a bit at how much it sounded like the legends of old.

"Just hope my tale has a happy ending…"

…

 **Hadrian - Riverlands – Late Morning**

Hadrian's head swayed as he rested in his seat beside Marcus, having been awake for much of the ride since last night's attack. Garm was sitting in the back of the cart, the half-wolf snoozing while his master calmly drove the horses down the road. The gruff man showed not one hint of exhaustion despite having not slept at all throughout the night, even when Hadrian had offered to take the reins. He always kept his gaze to the thick tree line for anything odd. Overall, the forest seemed to be normal in these parts as the birds and peaceful wildlife were active.

"Odd times indeed." He muttered under his breath before glancing ahead down the road. "Oi…Hadrian." Nudging the young man, he'd snap awake with a small yelp, though quickly calmed down when he realized what was going on.

The trees and brush were clearing away to reveal a wide and beautiful valley, Blackwood Vale which some considered the 'breadbasket' of the Riverlands. The fertile valley had been cleared of trees thousands of years ago, creating the first homes for the settlers of the region…at least as the tales go. The young man's attention was to the distant white stone structure, a quite picturesque keep really. Surrounding the keep were sturdy white stone walls and thick square towers set at every corner with a well-kept moat surrounding it all. While the defenses were covered in a lush layer of moss, giving the keep a natural look to it. However, towering over even the walls and nearing the tops of the high structures was a giant weirwood tree, one that had died to old age. Some Maesters claimed it was the largest one of its kind, except for the ones hidden in the frozen lands beyond the Wall.

"Home…" He sighed, feeling at ease for once after the last few harrowing days. His gaze did drift back to the back of the cart, looking at a heavy burlap sack that had a thick red strain showing under it.

"Seen much of Westeros during my travels. Can say Blackwood Vale has that peaceful charm to it that some Kingdoms lack." Marcus remarked as they'd ride pass a few lash fields. The workers did give a curious look to them, a few even muttering as they'd recognize Hadrian. "Seems though the small folk know you though."

"I…well…do often help around the Vale." Rivers muttered a bit shyly. "Whenever someone is even slightly sick, people often come to the Hall for me if there isn't a Wiseman around. I can say no one has died under my care."

"Heh, take pride in that sire." Marcus chuckled, giving a rare grin to the man. "Bastard or not, the common people need decent lords to protect and lead them. I think you'll do just fine."

The young man shuffled slightly in his seat from the praise, though a thankful grin just showed. "Perhaps…though I still have much to learn before take such a responsibly."

The Northern gave a shrug, deciding not to press further on the matter as their cart traveled across the valley and closer to the Hall. There was a larger village nearby the walled keep, a place Hadrian often visited when not busy with his studies within the Hall. With it being late morning, most of the villagers were out and about, doing their usual chores for the day.

"Look! It's Hadrian!" An older man pointed out, quickly drawing more attention as Marcus and River's passed by.

"Wasn't he on a scouting mission to the south?"

"He had nearly a dozen men with him."

"Where's Ser Cordin?"

"Wasn't your husband one of the men in that group?"

The last muttered words had Hadrian feel that sickening feeling hit him, knowing that honest men…husbands and fathers who lived here were all dead. Already he knew he'd have to tell the people about what happened…though he doubted they'd believe monstrous witches had slaughtered them.

"Lad, your shaking." Marcus whispered in a faint voice, making the boy realize that he was indeed shaking in his seat.

"I'm fine…I'm fine…" He muttered back, taking deep breaths to calm himself. With them nearing the moat, the sturdy drawbridge was lowered down and already a group of House soldiers were walking out to question them "Stop here, I'll talk to the guards." The innkeeper nodded as he'd slow the cart down to a stop before the bridge, while Hadrian hopped off and walked towards the trio of guards. "I am Hadrian Rivers, son of Lord Tyto Blackwood." He declared, doing his best to speak in a strong and clear voice despite nervous emotions within him.

"Master Hadrian! We're surprised to see return so suddenly and under…interesting company." The leader guard remarked, glancing for a moment at Marcus and Garm, who had climbed over from the back of the cart to take the boy's old seat. "What has happened to the scouting party and-"

"Their…it's difficult to explain." Hadrian quickly answered back, trying not to share the tragic news publicly. "Please, I need to speak to father right now."

The guards muttered before nodding. "And your companion?"

"Someone who has done much for me in these last few days. I ask that you let him in as a guest and even speak with my father over what happened."

The leading guard thought a bit before noted. "If you will vouch for him then he may enter."

Giving a short thankful nod to the guard, Hadrian glanced back at Marcus who was already moving his cart across the drawbridge. The group soon entered the courtyard, letting the men in gatehouse raise the bridge up behind them. A few guards directed Marcus over to an open spot at the stables to park the cart, though Hadrian saw them chatting for a bit, pointing at Garm. In the end, the gruff northerner seemed to mutter something to the half-wolf, he give a toothy yawn before laying across the driver's seat as he guard the man's possessions. The Northern though grabbed the large burlap sack though before he left the cart.

"Seem they don't trust him tagging along." Marcus explained to Hadrian. "Don't mind though. Rather have him watch over my things instead of the guards."

Hadrian gave an amused smirk before the two were led into the keep itself by one of the guards from the drawbridge. "A lot has happened in the half week you've bene gone Master River's. Near complete chaos has broken out in the capital."

"Chaos? I know there was a trial for Lord Eddard Stark." Hadrian questioned curiously. "Father seemed tense about the matter…having gotten some ravens even baring the mark of the Hand of the King."

"Aye. Let's just say Lord Stark's trial had become an…execution." The shocking news had both Marcus and Hadrian give surprised looks. "There is much to talk about Master Rivers. Lord Blackwood will no doubt tell you what has happened of late."

The group soon entered the main hall of the keep where at the center was a group of men surrounding a large table covered with a map of Westeros along with countless letters spread across it. Rivers recognized advisers of his father such as the Maester and the Master-at-Arms. Yet the young man's gaze quickly set towards his father, who was standing at the head of the table.

Lord Tytos Blackwood indeed looked like an older Hadrian, though having a sharper look about him considering his hooked nose and short crop salt-and-pepper colored beard. He was dressed in plain gray and black finery which the emblem of a weirwood tree marked on the front. "Has there been any word from the North and the Starks about this?" He calmly spoke, his voice smooth yet having a commanding power to it as his gaze was focused on a new letter set before him.

"I doubt we will receive anything until well over a week sire. No doubt Robb Stark and Lady Catelyn will be busy calling their Houses together and gathering their bannermen." The Master-at-Arms answered before the man noticed Hadrian and Marcus approaching. "Lord Blackwood…it's your son."

Tyto's glanced up from the letter to look right at his son. For a moment that hawk like gaze softened, a sign of ease just showing in them for a moment. "Hadrian."

"Father…" The young man bowed his head slightly before approaching the table. "I'm sorry if my return was at a-"

"No need to worry Master River's. If anything, this is fortunate timing for us all." The Maester quickly remarked. "Much uncertainty about of late…"

"Much would be an understatement." Blackwood muttered grimly. "I have a feeling something terrible has happened to the scouting party…hasn't it."

There was a long pause before Hadrian nodded, taking a moment to take a deep shaky breath, "They're dead…all of them."

"What happened exactly? Who attacked you."

"Father…this may sound like a mad tale…but I swear to you it's true…"

…

The next few hours were filled with the grim details of the scouting party's massacre from Hadrian, followed by the chaotic news of what had happened in King's Landing involving Eddard's trial. The exchange of information last until mid-day, leading to a late lunch for the gathered group.

"So…'witches' killed the scouts is what you claim?' Tytos muttered, both hands gripping tightly at the edge of the table. "I can tell your being honest with me Hadrian, but surely the trauma of that ambush has warped your memory."

"I know what happened." Hadrian remarked back, nearly snapping out in a rare show of anger. "Witches…hags…monsters...whatever! I watched Ser Cordin give his life for me…getting crushed by that…thing." A chill went through the young man before he calmed himself. "Even if you don't believe me on who or what attacked us…I can only confirm there is real danger around Highheart and it's already spread throughout the woods around it."

The gathered advisors muttered about to Blackwood, no doubt sharing their thoughts on the boy's outlandish tale, though they'd quiet down when a gruff voice spoke up to draw everyone's attention. "If I may speak my lord."

Blackwood's gaze settled on the Northerner, who had a just as unyielding look in his deep blue eyes. After a tense pause, Blackwood nodded. "Considering how much you did to help my son; I'm open to hearing what you have to say."

Nodding, Marcus stood up from his seat as he'd pace more to the side of the table. "I'll admit, when I found the lad wandering through the woods in a daze, I thought he too had mistook what he saw." The man then held up the sack he had been holding. "I know you're a man who needs to see proof before him…so that is what I'll give you."

Hadrian already knew what the Northerner had planned as Marcus set the sack down onto the table before pulling it open to reveal the grotesque head of the ghoul. The sight drew a mix sickening gag from the Maester and even the Master-at-Arms face paled as he'd glance away from the horrible sight. Blackwood, while shocked by the creature kept his composure, though baffled look just hinted his face.

"By the Seven…" He muttered, looking more closely at the head as he recognized the more human like features to it. "Cordin…I can tell by the eyes and nose…" Blackwood covered his mouth as he took a deep breath, knowing he had to keep calm.

"It is him…or…was him." Hadrian muttered.

"Last night, this thing attacked us when we made camp." Marcus calmly explained. "I've hunted plenty of beasts and faced toughened soldiers who'd fight to their last breath, but this thing endured far beyond any living thing I've encountered."

"The question is how did Ser Codrin…become this abomination?" The Maester questioned.

"Either the gods, be it the old or the new have a twisted way of bringing the dead back…or perhaps the rumors of witches lurking in the swamps are real."

"You do know how crazy that sounds." Blackwood sighed. "But as you said…we have proof before us of a monster."

"Which is why you need to organize the men…or even call for Riverrun for aid!" Hadrian quickly pleaded.

"I understand how you want justice for our men, but we can't simply rush our forces now…not when we have a threat of war looming over us."

River's seemed ready to argue, but Marcus spoke up before him. "You are right Lord Blackwood…if anything you best keep everyone away from those woods. Whatever is lurking there…it isn't natural because after the night that beast attacked us I knew someone…thing…was watching us the whole way."

"So, what do you suggest then? While we can't send our full forces to Heartheart, we simply can't ignore whatever is hiding away there." The Master-at-Arms questioned.

"Simple…burn those woods down."

"That is insane! Even if we had the time to have a controlled fire…the damage to the region would be devastating to whole generations."

"Enough!" At this point Blackwood seemed to have reach his limit on this subject. "I feel we all need time to think over how to handle this new crisis, considering Westeros is possibly on the brink of a new civil war." Looking to Hadrian, he'd take a deep breath to calm himself. "All of you are dismissed. As for you Marcus, you are free to stay for the night at least."

"That is kind of you…but I'd prefer to continue on my way back to Fairmarket." The Northerner formally, if bluntly answered back. "Don't wish to worry my family by arriving home late."

"Then I wish you safe travels Marcus."

The man only gave a short respectful nod, seeming quick to leave now, though Hadrian did hurry over to him just as he was about to leave the hall. "Marcus…I…thank you for everything." The boy seemed unsure of what else to say, but the gruff man didn't mind as he'd clap a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Watch yourself River's. Storm is coming…and you'll need to be strong to survive it." With that warning given, he'd walk away down the hall, heading for the way out of the keep.

Hadrian give a tired sigh as he'd go the opposite direction, heading deeper into the keep and to his own room to clean himself up for the coming night. Part of him hated how much arguing had broken out during the meeting, though he knew his father was under a lot of stress considering the fate of Eddard Stark along with the threat of war between the North and South with the Riverlands caught in the middle. He knew that if war broke out those hags would take advantage to use the bloodshed and chaos…who knew what horrors they would do.

…

"Garm." Marcus's quick remark had the half-wolf's eyes snap awake, the canine seeming alert despite being asleep moments ago. The Northerner checked the ties and reins to his horses before noticing someone approaching him. "Forget to ask me something Lord Blackwood?" He muttered as he finished tightening the straps up.

Tytos didn't respond at first as he watched Marcus move to the side of the cart. "I'm wondering why you'd put yourself at risk of being recognized. Did you think ten years would make everyone forget about you?" He calmly questioned.

"Past is the past my lord. You know that well enough."

"Aye…yet the Boltons haven't forgotten your actions against them. Even after all this time they have kept the bounty on you, though few care for it considering it's over a decade old."

Marcus didn't answer back as he'd heft himself onto the cart and grasp the reins, keeping his gaze away from Blackwood. "So, what will you do? Could have jailed me back in your hall."

"Because I know an innocent man when I see one…and consider this my payment for saving my son."

There be a tense pause between the two before Marcus gave a grunt and low nod. "Then consider us even my lord." A faint smirk hinted his face now. "May the Seven and Old Gods keep you well. Good day Blackwood…" Cracking the reins, the horses pulled the cart forward across the lowered cross bridge and down the road through the village.

"You too…huntsman…" Blackwood muttered to himself, hoping he had made the right choice in letting the Northerner go considering his true reputation.

…

Despite how quickly he had ridden off, Marcus did take the time to make a quick stop at the village's message board just at the edge of it. It was just a habit he always followed, mainly because he was looking for a certain message pinned up. He had a feeling that recent events in King's Landing were not as a random as they seemed, making him wonder if his…associates were active once more.

"Hells be damned…" His attention focused on a message pinned to the board, more of a poetic eulogy considering how it was written.

 _ **Grim tidings my dear friends.  
Such troubling days we now face with our good King Robert Baratheon murdered in the Shadow of his greatest hunt. To suffer death from the milk of the Viper's, a choking pain that can crush even an iron heart.  
How So many mourn his passing. The Wolves of the North howl while The Stones of Storm's End crack in agony to the south and the noble lion roars in rage to the east.  
Yet there should be celebration though, for the man would not wish us to wallow in sorrow. To my good friends, we met at the linking of great rivers and under a warm Northern hearth. Be sure to remember three kegs to bring cheer to us all!  
Signed, Red Cap**_

"Always with his stupid poetic messages." Marcus growled as he'd grab the notice, ripping it off the board and crumpling it up in one hand. Getting back onto his cart, he'd have it moving once more while the other rubbed over Garm's head, scratching behind the half-wolf's ear. He'd turn onto the eastern road, following the sign pointed towards Fairmarket.

"From blood of kings…murder and lies. Seems the time is right for us to play our last gambit…Zarin."

… **.**


	27. S2-E3: Grim Tidings

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Grim Tidings**

 **Robb Stark - The North – Winterfell – Nightfall - Seven Days Later**

 **Forward: As always, credit for edits goes to Rainsfere and to Max000 for draft reading.**

Robb read over the letter once more, one written by Geralt which had just arrived tonight. A mix of emotions filled the young man, making his hand grip the paper tightly that he threatened to crumble it up. He felt joy to know that his sisters were indeed safe, proving the royal letter claiming they were under Lannister 'protection' was false. What had him at the edge of tears was the news of his father being dead, fatally wounded during the escape from the trial that had turned into an execution. The royal letter only claimed his father had escaped, so either the Lannisters were lying again or they didn't know of what happened to Eddard.

"And now they're all under the care of Lord Stannis." His father's last letter had put the Baratheon as the true heir to the Iron Throne and put his full support to the man's claim. Beyond just common knowledge and rumor, Robb knew little of Stannis, only that he was a stern man with a strict sense of right and wrong, along with having taken on a foreign faith from Essos. He couldn't be sure if the man was the right one to rule the Seven Kingdoms, but right now he had his family under his care. While he hoped Stannis wouldn't be ruthless enough to threaten them, there was a nagging worry of such an outcome to the back of his mind. "Yet what will he expect of me?"

Not long after muttering those thoughts, there was a knocking at the door before Maester Luwin entered. "Lord Robb…they are all gathered in the Great Hall and wait for you."

Robb was silent, taking a deep breath as he calmed himself. Right now he couldn't seem emotional or weak to the gathering of Northern Lords. Right now he was the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, he had to show them all he had the strength to lead in what was to come. "Then it is time." Picking up Geralt's letter, he'd shoulder his wolf fur cloak before leaving the office, Luwin following close behind on the long walk to the feast hall. Looking out the window, he would see honor guard that had come with the dozen lords who had arrived in the last few weeks, with far more camped around Winterfell's wall. Robb knew the men of the North would obey the call, yet even he didn't expect such a large show of force.

The arriving at the Great Hall, he could hear the yammer of deep voices as the lords talked amongst each other. Food and drink were plenty, yet little had been enjoyed considering the matter they had been invited for. Everyone quickly quieted down as he entered, countless gazes locked onto the young man as he'd pace around to the head table. Robb soon stopped once he had a full view of the hall, looking over everyone gather. The silence remained, until at last he'd speak.

"Lord Eddard Stark…the Warden of the North and my father…is dead…"

The declaration brought an uproar of voices, yells of anger and shock followed by demanding remarks. It was like a boom of thunder as dozens of fierce warriors snapped out.

"How is it possible!?"

"The Lannisters lied! They murdered him!"

"It was a mistake for Lord Stark to have left…to have trusted them!"

"Quiet all of you!" One voice spoke out, an older yet unyielding one that brought silence once more to the hall. Everyone's gaze moved to a tall and gaunt man with thick graying hair and beard. Everyone recognized his House symbol, the white sun on black background, the mark of House Karstark. The Karstark was a cadet family to the Starks, who have always been loyal to them over a thousand years. Lord Rickard as always stuck to that loyalty. "When did you learn of this news and from whom?" The old lord formally questioned in a grunt manner.

"From a man you should all know very well, Geralt of Rivia." The name quickly drew more muttering as many knew about the Witcher, either from his encounters with the Wildlings or his exploits at the tournament in King's Landing. A few had even been at the Melee, being a guest or fighter, letting them personally see the Witcher's unmatched skill. "We all know how he intervened during the trial, trying to save my sisters and father. He was wounded during their escape, but at least it was better than under the blade of an executioner."

Lord Karstark nodded in agreement. "Hope he died fighting at least." The old lord gave a small growl of anger, these events no doubt reminding him of what happened to Robb's grandfather and uncle.

Someone else stood up from the tables, a pale skinned man with longer black hair and gray eyes. His expression the whole time was blank, lacking any hint of emotion. Robb had heard of Roose Bolton, a cold and calculating man whose House had long been a rival to the Starks, conflict having broken out between them in the ancient past. They were one of the strongest Houses in the North, but also one of most brutal considering their old history of torture and flaying others, which they had supposedly abandoned long ago.

"I have a question of my own. Where is this Geralt and your sisters now? Its obvious they had outside aid in escaping King's Landing, someone who has much to gain in all of this." Roose calmly stated.

The last statement did have a small sinking feeling come to Robb. After all, Stannis was the rightful heir to the throne and right now he needed as much support of each ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He could easily use his own family to force Robb's submission…or force him into conflict. "Lord Stannis is the one who has taken my sisters under his protection. He owes that much since my father put his honor forward in supporting his right to the Iron Throne."

Everyone started to mutter about once more, sharing mixed feeling over this.

"What of Renly? I've heard he is staking his own claim and has a lot of support behind him."

"But he's the youngest! He has no right to the throne!"

"It's the Lannisters we should focus on, not the Baratheons!"

There were already hints of arguing building up but before they got out of hand, yet the loud slam of an iron flagon quickly had everyone become silent. Everyone's gaze focused on the man who'd stand up, being at least over seven feet tall and the most muscular man among the gathered lords. Lord Greatjon Umber, the man many proclaimed as the strongest in the North. House Umber's territory was the closest to the Wall, making them the first line of defense against any Wildling raiders that snuck over. Like the Bolton's, they had a history of being rivals with the Stark in ages past, yet they were now one of their most steadfast if boisterously fierce allies. Greatjon looked right at Robb, a strong look of judgment showing in them as he sized up the young man.

"Here's what I think of our two 'kings'." The large man then thickly spat into the nearby firepit, the mix of thick ale still in his mouth making the flame flare slightly, drawing amused laughs and chuckles from most of the gathered lords. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither!" He'd pace about, as he spoke with such fierce passion. "Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood?" People nodded in agreement as he took pause. "Even their gods are wrong!" The added remark drew another round of laughter. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to and they are long since dead!" He'd turn to face Robb again, large hand pointing out towards him. "You may be Lord Eddard's son, yet how am I to know you'll have what it takes to lead us all in this coming war!?"

Northern independence has long been an ideal by most of the Houses of the North, ever since the days the Targaryens forced them under their rule. History showed that they had endured plenty of hardship with the countless conflicts that broke out, with the events before and during Robert's Rebellion taking a personal toll towards them.

"I question if you have the strength to lead us on the field since you haven't had the taste of a real battle yet, much less a true war. How can I…no…all of us be certain you have the will to face any hardship and put your people first"

Robb didn't answer at first, knowing he had to answer carefully towards Greatjon. House Umber had one of the largest number of bannermen, along with sizable influence with the minor Houses. If he didn't agree with Robb, the man could easily thin the North's numbers by a dangerous amount. Yet he knew what he had to say to the man and show that he had the strength to be the new Warden of the North. He'd glanced at the letter in his hands, knowing right now this was a key moment that decide what would the course of the coming war.

"Lord Umber…" Robb approached the towering man, stopping once he stood before him. For a tense moment their gazes lock, both show unyielding determination. "I understand if you doubt if I'm prepared for this war, but I've been preparing for this moment all my life." The young man's voice was calm yet had such stern command. "I won't let emotion dictate how I will act in this coming war, yet I won't rashly make enemies like you suggest."

"Stannis can easily be an enemy to us. As you said he has your sisters, your father's remains and even your family sword. More then enough to try forcing you to bend the knee and submit to any demands he has." Greatjon remarked deeply back.

"Aye, he does, but I know he won't try to force me into alliance with him."

"Heh…are you that gullible to have such trust?" The mocking tone drew low voices of surprise as the older man spoke in such a way to Robb.

"No, I simply understand that Stannis needs the North more than you think, just as we need him more than you claim." Robb gazed around the hall, looking over everyone gathered. "The Lannisters already have a head start in this conflict. By now they'll be digging into the Riverlands and working towards forcing House Tully into submission or wipe them out. You all know how hard the battles in that region were during the Rebellion, only this time we have an enemy that won't make the same mistakes as the Mad King."

The reminder of that civil war had the voices quiet down and even Greatjon give a thoughtful look. None to deny how bloody that conflict had been, even if they tried to forget it all by focusing on the heroes and victories from that time. "So what do you expect us to do? Agree to serve alongside Stannis and let him rule us if he takes the Iron Throne?" Lord Umber question, speaking more formally for now.

"No…if there is one thing I do agree on it's the fact that our kingdom has faced too much hardship over the last few generations because of the southern Houses. The unity between us and the Iron Throne is long faded, even more so with King Robert now dead." Robb paused for a moment to let those words sink in. "I plan to invite Stannis for a meeting at White Harbor, where he will return my sisters, father and Ice. I will offer an alliance to bring justice to the Lannisters and those who betrayed our trust towards them. When all is done, I will then press for the North to have independence."

The declaration drew a surprised look from Greatjon, easing away that judging stare he had been giving. Most of the gathered nobles seemed just as taken aback at Robb's promise, a mix of hope and doubt soon being silently shared. "What your suggesting won't be that simple, even if you show such confidence." Lord Umber muttered. "Stannis won't be swayed so easily, even if we hand the Iron Throne to him."

"Better to try diplomacy before throwing more lives away." Robb answered back with a short nod. "That's why I need you at my side, you and all the Houses of the North." He'd hold out one hand towards the older lord, their gazes meeting once more. "Let's bring a stronger future for all the people of the North."

Greatjon chuckled, his amusement soon turning into a deep bellow before he'd strongly grasp the young man's arm. Both shook firmly, Robb showing quite the strength as Lord Umber gave a wide grin. "You got the same strength and spirit your father had at your age. You will have me and my bannerman at your side, yet I will hold you to your oath this night."

"Good, I expect that of you."

Cheers filled the hall as everyone was pleased with this settled unity, a more boastful mood filling the air with food and drink was being enjoyed properly. Robb lead Lord Umber, Karstark, Bolton and the other major lords back to the main table to begin discussing plans. They had to march the main forces southward to get their own foothold in the Riverlands, along with trying to coordinate with the Houses in the region who were allies of the North. They had a lot of work ahead of them, yet the mood throughout the Great Hall showed pride and confidence for whatever may come.

…

Bran had been watching his brother give that grand speech, a small smile on his face as everyone seemed to be in full support for him. The boy was sitting in his wheel chair, having just been finished a few days ago after the best craftsmen of Winterfell constructed it under Maester Luwin's direction.

The chair could handle rolling outside, though muddy and rough ground made it difficult to move without someone pushing him. The back of it also had bolted leather straps, letting Hodor carrying him on his back like a pack to go up stairs or across rough ground. It was better then just simply being carried in the man's large arms.

"An historic day isn't it." Luwin muttered, as the maester sat down beside Bran with a tired sigh. "Haven't seen such unity between the lords since the Rebellion. It is a shame that war is the reason why this is happening though."

"It is…" Bran muttered. He was still shaken knowing what happened to his father yet…oddly he felt like he had known already. The odd expression on his face made Luwin glace at him with a concerned look on his face.

"You seem troubled Bran. Has sleep been difficult for you still?"

The boy shook his head after a moment, glancing towards the old man. "Just…thinking over what happened to father. How it happened…why it happened." He thought about Geralt, wondering if the Witcher was alright after all that had happened.

"Fate isn't kind to all of us Bran, even for good men like your father." Luwin put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to assure him. "You've suffered so much loss Bran, yet you are a strong lad and will endure."

Bran nodded before glancing over to the head table, his brother deep in conversation with the major Lords. He knew that if his brother was going to be leading the war effort, that make him to manage Winterfell for a time. It seemed strange to have such a responsibly, yet it would a duty he'd shoulder with dedication and pride.

However Luwin was right about his dreams, they have been strange and almost life like. One dream had been with him walking once more and practicing archery in the morning, the yard being eerily empty as if everyone had disappeared from the Keep. The sound of a raven had alerted him, the black bird by the entrance to the family crypts. It kept cawing until he started to near it, yet once he got close the bird turned to face him, revealing a third eye set on its forehead. At that point he had woken up, but in the back of his mind he knew the strange raven was trying to guide him somewhere or tell him something.

Shaking his head, he'd glance at Luwin again who could tell the boy was distracted with his thoughts. "Just tell me if you have anything to talk about." Giving a small pat on the boy's shoulder, he'd get up and move to the head table, no doubt to advise Robb if needed.

Bran remained at his table, gaze a bit distant as he tried to clear his troubled thoughts. Beyond the troubled idea of war, he knew there was something worse lurking out there in the world. He could feel a chilling shadow from the south and on the nights, he roamed along Winterfell's walls, he swore the air was colder from the far north.

"Winter is coming…" He muttered to himself, knowing deep down things were only going to get worse.

…

 **The Riverlands – Fairmarket – The Next Day - Evening**

Far to the south in the Riverlands, a different kind of meeting was about to take place. Fairmarket was one of the larger towns in the region, set quite close to the Trident just to the east, Riverrun to the west along with countless villages and holds all around. The place has constantly been on the edge of being a full-fledged city, yet neighboring lords had constantly held the town back, seeing such a rise a threat to their own trade and wealth. Still, Fairmarket was still a prosperous town which drew plenty of independent traders who often funded expansions and new business. While the Rebellion brought damages to the town, the twenty years had given them more than enough time to rebuild and grow.

On the eastern outskirts of the town was a large building that stood out from the ones set in the town, mainly because the design was Northerner style and looked like a drinking hall one could find the larger towns in the North. Overall it had a welcoming look to it, the kind of place any weary traveler could get a strong drink and a clean warm bed for the night. The front of the hall had a large sign set above the large double doors leading in, surrounded by three large hallowed out drinking kegs set out it as decoration. The inn's name was the 'Three Kegs', a simple name that no doubt had a story to it.

Inside, the place kept to the Northern theme as the main room was a large hall which had large firepits and braziers set around to keep the room at a cozy, warm temperature. Metal grills were set over some sections of their firepits, giving guests a means to cook any food themselves or keep a meal warm. Long tables and benches were set along the firepits in the inner part of the hall, while out towards the walls were booths and smaller tables for guests wanting privacy.

At the far end of the hall was a long bar with a mix of high chairs and bar stools to sit over two dozen people. The back of the bar had a wide selection of beer kegs and large bottles drinks from across Westeros and even Essos. Along the wall were a collection of trophies ranging from stuffed animal heads, pelts and weapons that the owner collected or donated by the patrons, sometimes to pay for expensive tabs they built up. At the center of the wall was a fine heavy crossbow on display, set low to be in reach for the lone bartender who was busy clearing up the last few patrons for the night.

Marcus set the last mug aside before rubbing over his gruff beard, giving a small sigh as he'd look over the near empty hall. "Slow night…" He muttered, having seen his usual customers slowly disappear as the week had gone by. He'd glance down to Garm, the half-wolf busy chewing up on the newest pile of bone scraps from his favored niched under the bar counter. "Going to be short on scraps for you." The innkeeper remarked to his canine companion. Garm whined slightly, yet quickly continued his chewing as the half-wolf got over the disappointing news.

"What did you expect Marcus? War is coming, and no one is planning to stick around." A usual patron chuckled from his stool before chugging down the last of his ale. "Everyone is packing up whatever they can carry and heading anywhere but here. Only those stubborn or too poor are remaining. The Riverlands are going to be flowing red in a week or so."

The Northern innkeeper didn't answer at first, giving only a small scowl as he'd collected the mug to hang up behind him. "Be simpler if the stubborn Lords dueled it out like in the old tales. Save us a lot of blood, sweat and tears." He grumbled.

"So what do you plan to do Marcus, going to hunker down with your family and shoot any soldier thinking to loot the place? You'd be better off moving to King's Landing."

"Rather die here than cramped in that dump of a city." Marcus growled. "I wasn't there when they sieged it back then, but I know how it bloody it was, especially for the common folk caught up in the Lannisters sacking."

The patron quieted down on that detail, glancing at his mug before sliding it over to Marcus. "Just looking out for ya mate. The man's gaze drifted to a woman with long brown hair who moved about clearing the tables of plates. She was a fair beauty in her early thirties, her figure slim under that deep green dress she wore. "You're a tough bastard Marcus, but you have to consider your family." The man set down the coin he owed and a bit extra. "Sevens fortunes to you Marcus. Hope I'll be able to come back here once this madness is over." With that, the man gave a short nod before strolling across the hall and out of the inn.

"Aye…so do I…" Marcus muttered, glancing over to his crossbow hanging behind him. One hand tapped across the bar top, hinting his restlessness as he wondered where his more shadowy companions where. "Zarin…taking your damn time getting here."

"Why are you mentioning him?" The woman questioned, having reached the bartender to set down the large stack of plates. Her blue eyes had a sharp look to him, judgmental and questioning, expected of an honest wife like her.

"Sandra…its just him visiting for old times' sake." He started before the woman nearly slammed the plates onto the counter.

"You know how dangerous he is! Between his history and what he is capable of!"

"He'd never try to harm you or our daughter."

"Its not that I'm worried about, more of what trouble he'll bring to us." She muttered back.

Marcus sighed deeply, head bowed slightly. "I owe him my life…heck he owes me his too. Without him we wouldn't have this inn even."

Sandra crossed her arms, turning about slightly as her husband made his defense. "I know. Just…I wish you didn't have to do it…putting your life on the line or having to hurt anyone."

"Things aren't that simple…you know that." He'd flip out a counter door to get to the other side, moving up to gently hold his wife's hand with his worn ones. "I've done my best to be a good and honest man…even it if means being hated for doing the right thing. I will keep to that path no matter what, for you and Merry." Leaning in, he'd share a tender kiss with her. "Even if all of Westeros threatens to crush us, I'll fight them all, tooth and nail for you."

Sandra blushed faintly, chuckling as he gave such a grand promise. One hand moved to caress his bearded cheek, her gaze softening. "I know." She sighed, before the main door opened suddenly. She and Marcus both looked over to see who was coming in at this hour and they quickly realized who.

It wasn't hard not to recognize Zarin as the old man walked in, considering his faded red robes and cap covering his balding short cut black hair. He'd straighten out his clothes, no doubt having been riding for a long while to get here. Despite being at least into his mid-fifties, he had a tall stance and moved quite limberly, showing that time hadn't slowed him down since Marcus had last saw him.

Following behind him was his much larger traveling companion, Ogatto who'd stretched his broad shoulders about, shifting the large Arakh he had strapped over one. The Dothraki did draw some odd looks for the few patrons who looked at him, yet the copper skinned man didn't seem to mind as he followed Zarin.

"Heh…Marcus. Seems you've kept this place in order last I last visited." Zarin chuckled as he approached the Northerner and his wife, who gave a short nod in greeting toward her despite her reserved look.

Marcus smirked a bit before giving the old man a short hug and shaking hands firmly. "And you're staying fit it seems. Traveling seems to be doing good for your health." The innkeeper remarked.

"When you learn as much as I do, the limitations of age are…simple to understand." Zarin vaguely remarked before focusing his attention to Sandra. "Lady Sandra, looking as beautiful as ever." He even gave a short formal bow, though the woman didn't seem impressed.

"I hope this visit won't be like the last time." Her gaze did drift to Ogatto, the bloodrider was busy petting Garm who had hurried over to the group and jumped up to lap at the man's chin in a friendly manner. Seeing the woman's sharp look towards him, he'd give a small grin towards her. Most would be nervous of someone like him, yet the woman seemed unfazed with the tall tribal warrior.

"I'm not bringing trouble this time, if that is what your suggesting." The Dothraki remarked.

"You had smashed nearly a dozen chairs and three tables after the fight you started."

The horse rider shrugged, seeming to find that memory casual. "Maybe those men shouldn't be so hateful to my people. Besides, Marcus got caught up in that."

"Wasn't going to let you and a dozen loggers destroy my inn." He grumbled, but he did have a faint amused smile remembering that brawl.

"The past aside, we have business to discuss." Zarin glanced about the hall, seeing a few of the lingering patrons had left since their arrival, though a few remained. "Mind if you close up the place?"

"What about the others?"

"Oh they'll be coming. I've…done my estimates and they will be all here tonight."

"Ah yes…your 'estimates'." Marcus muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

The alchemist gave a low chuckle. "Don't sound so doubtful, I've rarely been wrong."

Sighing, Marcus decided not to argue. "Fine, I'll get the stragglers out. Its also a good thing no one has taken any rooms for the night as well." Glancing to Sandra, he'd quickly add. "Make sure the both of them get a fresh meal and whatever drink they want."

She'd nod before she and the two strange travelers moved to the bar counter, while Marcus strolled around the tables to convince the few people remaining to leave. It wasn't too hard considering the late hours and the fact most were simply locals. They respected Marcus and had a feeling there was something important going on. With the hall empty, he'd head outside to get the large sign flipped to closed. Yet as he'd glance around the road, he'd see a lone armored figure walking towards the inn, the low sun silhouetting the figure's large form.

"Keep forgetting he never has a horse." Marcus remarked as the figure neared.

The man was decked completely in a dull grey color, worn by untold amount of time to have lost any hint of luster, making it look like it was made of stone instead of metal. The armor lacking any detailing features, being nearly smooth except for the expected bolts and leather work that kept it all together. Covering the man's head was a solid great helm, which had a wide visor letting him get a mostly full view in front of him, though it shadowed his features hidden under the helmet. The few gaps at the joins and side showed fine deep brown wraps At his hip was a large fanged mace, the weapon matching the man's overall grey armored appearance having the same color, though it was not aged like the armor and in fact finely crafted. At his back was a heavy square shield, tough enough to stop any charging attacker in their tracks. Despite all that heavy gear, the man didn't seem tired or strained carrying so much.

"Marcus." The knight's voice was deep and clear despite the helmet, his tone almost unnatural calm even. The armored man's head looked over the Three Kegs, giving a short approving nod. "The place looks nice."

"Good to see you too, Ser Doric." Marcus remarked back as he'd give a friendly pat on the tall man's armored shoulder. Up close, Doric had the thick smell of herbs and armorers oil about him, making it impossible to tell if the man even sweated under all that plate. "No trouble on the roads, right?"

"Ran into Lannister soldiers along the King's Road…they questioned but didn't stop me."

"Doubt most people would try arresting someone like you." Marcus chuckled. "Anyway Zarin and Ogatto are already inside. I'm sure the old man had a lot to talk about with you."

Doric only gave a small 'hm' and nod before he'd move for the door into the hall, while Marcus followed in after him. The knights armored boots drew creaking stomps as they went across the tough wooden flooring, drawing both the alchemist's, Dothraki's and Sandra's attention. Marcus's wife gave a warm smile to the knight as she'd slip around the bar and walk toward him, giving a short hug over the man's broad chest.

"Its good to see you again Doric. Been following with your oaths I take?" She kindly asked as the man strolled towards the bar.

"Of course." The armored man again was vague and to the point with his answers, yet always speaking formally. "I visited Essos recently. Did honorable work along the slaver coasts, though hardly a scar to the cruelty there."

"Your sense of justice may be strong Doric, but not even you can dent the slave trade." Ogatto remarked, leaning back against the bar counter, taking a deep drink from his mug. "Slavery is outlawed here, yet the commoners are pushed and tormented by their lords as if they were slaves."

Doric glanced at the Dothraki, though no one could tell what gaze the man was giving towards the bloodrider. "Compared to what I've seen in the east, this is better." He calmly stated.

"If all goes as planned, all the free folk of Westeros will live better lives." Zarin intruded before the two started debating. "There is a reason I recruited both of you. You're both wise in the ways of the world yet have unique views points of it. Don't not let those views blind you to the great scheme of things though." Pausing, he'd nod to Doric. "How is the armor doing for you? Have you been maintaining it and your wraps correctly?"

"Yes." Doric hardly shifted his stance, his head just shifting to glance towards the alchemist.

"Good. I take you've also been keeping your unique supplies in check."

"Yes. The instructions you gave me have allowed wise men to restock what I need."

"Very good." Zarin stroked his short beard in thought before nodding. "I can inspect if you-"

"No. It isn't needed."

"As you wish." Still, the alchemist moved to his satchel, taking out small jars and offering it to Doric. "Still I trust my stock over anyone else. Use them."

Doric didn't argue, putting them in a belt pouch along his waist. "I need to change and eat for now. May I use one of your rooms Marcus?"

"Of course. The inn suite is yours, last door down the back hall." Marcus pointed down a wide hallway that was beside the hall, where all the guest rooms were set. There was another hallway on the other side, leading to the inn storage and Marcus's family rooms. "I'll have Sandra send food and drink to you."

"Thank you." Giving a short respectful nod, he'd move to hallways, though he stopped when he just glanced to the other hallway. He was still like a statue, seemingly not even breathing.

"Ugh…don't tell me he's dead now." Ogatto jested before he'd glance over to see where the knight was staring at. "Ah that's why."

"Merry! Why are you still up at this time!" Sandra hurried over as a young girl stepped out from her hiding spot around the doorway. She was only seven years old, having long messy chestnut brown hair and dazzling blue eyes, brighter then even her mother's. She wore a lovely deep blue summer dress, one she always enjoyed wearing even for bed time.

"But I wanted to see uncle Zarin!" Merry cutely whined, giving a short wave to the old man who gave a short friendly nod back to the girl. "Please! Besides…I've never seen a knight before too!" Her gaze looked to Doric, who hadn't moved an inch still.

Sandra sighed as she'd mutter something to Merry, the girl giving a small thankful grin before her mother let her hurry off to the alchemist. Zarin chuckled before leaning down to give the girl a hug and lift her up, having no trouble with her light weight. "Ugh! You've grown since last I visited." He chuckled, sitting back in one of the chairs and having the girl sit on one knee. "Been eating well and playing outside often?"

Merry nodded, wide eyes looking over Zarin's faded red robes, seeming curious on the vials he had carefully tucked away among straps and ties. "I help around the inn at times. Moving stuff and cooking." She'd rock a bit on his knee before giving a shy look. "So…do you have that one gift before?"

"Oh…you mean this?" Reaching into his satchel, taking out something wrapped in thin paper. "You did love this when I last visited." With the wrapping removed, the girl gave an eager look seeing the honey nut treat, a rare sweet the alchemist had brought before. "It's a few days old, but I've kept it wrapped up to keep it fresh. A little time by a flame will warm it up nicely." He said before wrapping the treat up. "Promise you'll share it if old Marcus asks of some." He said in a teasing manner, mainly towards the innkeeper who chuckled in amusement.

"Promise!" Taking hold of the treat, she seemed to enjoy the honey scent it had as she held it close.

"Ah, but I do have one more gift." Holding up one hand, he'd turn it about to show his palm and the back of his hand before waving his fingers lightly. With a flick of his wrist, he closed his hand suddenly and then open it to reveal a gold coin to the girl.

"You did magic! Also…that's a gold dragon, we could buy…anything with that!" She'd glance at the coin and the old man's face, who'd nod show she could take it. Snatching the coin, she'd flip it about in her little hands, rubbing the worn markings across it.

"Right there you hold the real power of Lords and Kings, young Merry." Zarin chuckled as he'd carefully lift her off his lap and to stand on the ground. "Guard that coin closely for the day you'll need it."

"I will uncle Zarin!" She'd give a big thankful hug to him before glancing around to look for Doric, yet the knight had seemingly slipped away when she was busy with the alchemist. "Where did he go?"

"Ser Doric has traveled long on foot, little one." Marcus explained as he'd ruffle her messy hair lightly with one hand. "He needs rest and is quite shy despite his size."

The girl frowned, seeming disappointed. "Can I see him later?" A sudden idea came to mind as she'd unwrap the honey nut treat. With a little effort, she broke off a piece and handed it to her father. "Can you at least give this to him? Unless he…has an oath to not eat treats…"

"Heh, doubt he has taken one of those. I'll be sure to give it to him during the meeting." He promised as he took the piece from her.

Beaming, she'd give a happy hug to her father before Sandra moved up beside her. "Enough excitement for the night. Time, we get your room cleaned up before bed."

Merry gave a small nod before taking her mother's hand, letting her guide her to back to her own room, though she'd give a parting wave to everyone.

Ogatto chuckled after Sandra and her daughter were gone. "Nice to see such innocence. Never thought I'd see you play the family 'uncle', Zarin."

"I'm not that cold and heartless Ogatto." The old man scoffed as he'd pace around the bar, picking up his drink which he had set aside. "I did wish to have kids of my own. Alas…my work has kept that future from me."

"You…being a family man?" The tribal laughed deeply before taking a drink from his mug. "I can't see that from you, considering how ruthless you can be."

"Life has taught us all to be that way…why else did I pick everyone to be a Grim." Zarin calmly stated, the chilling fact making the Dothraki silent. "Yet philosophy and morality can debated later…we do have a meeting to start."

"We're still missing two." Marcus muttered. "I'd prefer that 'he' was

"Oh how touching of you Marcus." A faint voice chuckled out, making the Northerner glance about to see a dark cloaked man lodged back in one of the nearby booths. The cloak hood was pulled low over the man's head, though he hilted his head to just reveal his piercing green eyes. The man was clean shaven, yet it was revealed that along his left jaw and cheek there was deep long scarring, rough as if his face had been dashed across jagged rocks. It deformed his face slightly, giving it a sunken look to a degree, though it didn't muddle his speech in the slightest. The scarred man was at least into his early thirties, though his faded wound made him look slightly older. He was dressed in dark colored leathers, light agile armor suitable for his discrete line of work considering his slim yet toned build. Laid across the table was a black colored bow and a quiver full of the Shadow's sinister barbed arrows. "I hope you didn't mind me lurking about. Didn't want to ruin the moment for your kid." He chuckled as he'd kick his boots up onto the table, stretching his body out in his seat.

"When did you get here?" Marcus questioned in annoyance, while Garm gave a warning snarl to him.

The Shadow just shrugged. "You should have noticed me sooner really. Seems you and your pet are getting soft over the years." His gaze looked over to Zarin. "Is there any point in keeping him around?"

For a moment, Marcus seemed ready to snap out, yet the alchemist raised a hand up to silence the Northerner. "Marcus was the first of us and I trust him above all else. You will show him respect Shadow."

The assassin bowed his head slightly, no doubt to hide his annoyed expression. "As you wish." Shifting up, he'd get up from his seat in one fluid movement, along with snatching up his laid-out weapons with one hand. "So where is our last Grim? Is she trying to arrive fashionably late as always?"

"Last I spoke with Snake, she had gone south to Dorne for personal matters and for a special assignment." Zarin answered back. "If my sources are correct though, she has been seen around King's Landing not long before Lord Stark's fateful trial, so she'll have found my message for this meeting." With a small shrug, he'd move towards one of the long tables set in the middle of the hall. "For now, we'll begin once Doric has taken care of his personal needs."

"Ugh…I swear if he spends the next hour praying to the bloody Seven." The Shadow grumbled as he'd follow the alchemist to the chosen table, picking out a chair which he leaned back in before kicking his feet up onto the table.

"We all have our habits Shadow. The knight's traditions may seem pointless to you and me, but you have to respect his dedication to them along with the fact he's unwavering in battle." Ogatto commented, picking a seat across from the assassin.

The Shadow gave a grunt, seeming disinterested on the topic already as he'd take out a specialized sharpening knife and a small pouch which he set on the table. Digging into it, he'd take out an arrowhead which he'd start to sharpen, yet also shape serrated grooves as well. This just showed one of the assassin's first steps in creating his cruel and lethal weapons.

Marcus took a seat beside Ogatto while Zarin took his place at the table end to overlook everyone. Garm moved to lay between the Northern and Dothraki, the bloodrider having one hand go down to scratch the half-wolf's head. The alchemist riffled through his pack, taking out his black leather-bound journal, a large detailed map of Westeros and the coast of Essos along with a stake of tied up parchments. By now Sandra had returned from tucking Merry to bed, setting out the group's drinks and dinner. She did look to the Shadow who only glanced at her, yet it was obvious with the cold look she gave to the man that she did not welcome his company. The assassin didn't seem to care the slightest though, continuing shaping his arrowheads.

"So how was the road northward?" Marcus questioned Ogatto have a moment of silence. "I take you were ahead of the Lannister soldiers."

"Pretty much. We could see Tywin's personal army already marching in when we took some time to scout. Seems the 'Lord Regent' has been quick to get his forces entrenched in, though he'll no doubt be getting the Riverland Lords on edge."

"Lord Lannister knows he's outnumbered…but considering his history, he no doubt has a solid plan in mind to even the odds."

"So who are you betting on winning?"

"Heh…would it be wrong that I favor the North? You know how my people get when someone pisses us off."

Ogatto gave a deep laugh and nodded in agreement. "Having seen how you fight…I can say you make a fair point."

"This war won't be that simple friends, especially with us doing our work in the background." Zarin muttered, the old man busy writing in his journal. "This is the right time…the moment all of us have been waiting for."

Yet before he could say anything more, a door slammed from the guest rooms, followed by the deep step of Doric. The knight walked into the hall, still fully dressed in that heavy armor as he'd move for the table. He did pause though to grab one of the larger chairs set around, made of thick wood and reinforced with metal even. Setting it down to be beside the Shadow, he'd sit down which drew a low creak from the chair, showing even it strained under his weight. There was a short pause as all gazes were on Doric who'd glance over to Zarin.

"Shall we begin?" He simply asked.

The alchemist nodded before he'd slide over the pile of sheets, which on closer inspection were official notices ranging from the public declarations Lord Eddard had given, listed bounties and official decrees from the last few weeks. "First, a review of the last month. For one I will be open to the fact that I and Ogatto were involved on the attack on the late King Robert a month ago during his hunt."

"Heard about that one." Marcus muttered. "The notices claimed it was 'Targaryen supporters' who were striking out in the name of Daenerys and Viserys."

"Be hard to plan such a move for the brother considering he's been dead for quite a while." Doric remarked, drawing curious looks from the others. "Last I heard he threatened his sister in Vaes Dothrak, drew a sword before Khal Drogo himself."

Ogatto grinned and chuckled at the news. "Oh this is going to be good. Drogo always was creative with his executions."

"From what I heard, Viserys got the crown he wanted…being a pot full melted gold poured on his head."

The bloodrider laughed out while the Shadow chuckled a bit in sadistic amusement. "Serves the entitled brat. Bet everyone wanted him dead." The assassin muttered.

"One Targaryen left at least." Marcus muttered, showing he too had little love for the exiled royals.

"An interesting bit of news." Zarin crossed a name out in his journal before writing a bit more. "What else is there to share?"

"When I was leaving there had been news that Khal Drogo had died." Doric answered back.

"No! How…how did that happen!?" Ogatto snapped out, standing up suddenly from his seat. "There is no one in all of Essos who could best Drogo!"

The Shadow had a curious look in his eyes, having never seen the bloodrider react in such a way. "What, were you two tentmates or something?" He chuckled.

"I was one of his bloodriders if you have forgotten." The Dothraki growled, making that mocking look quickly fade from the assassin. "Even before he had become a Khal, I rode loyally with him and saw just how unmatched he was in battle."

"From what I had heard he had gotten an infected wound, though how that happened I do not know. It was not properly treated and thus he died. His horde was disbanded, and his wife Daenerys disappeared into the Red Wastes."

Ogatto trembled in anger, growling in frustration as he'd slam both fists to the table and mutter in Dothraki. Everyone but Zarin was confused over what he was saying, but the alchemist spoke up.

"You can calm yourself Ogatto." The old man calmly spoke.

The bloodrider gave a sharp look to the alchemist, almost seeming ready to lash out at him. "You don't understand. He was my people's greatest potential…having the cunning and open mind to bring us to a new glory!"

"Then why did he abandon you then?" Zarin calmly stated, making the Dothraki's expression of anger quickly fade.

"It is not that simple."

"I can imagine that friend." Marcus muttered back, making the tribal warrior glance to him. "You've never told me the full story of your past despite all our years working together. Perhaps its time to tell it to us."

Doric simply nodded in agreement with the Northern.

"Oh this is going to be good." The Shadow chuckled.

Ogatto was silent, fingers tapping across the tabletop tensely, yet Zarin would give a deep sigh and spoke up. "While it would be good for all of us to share our pasts openly, we can't let that distract right now." The calmly spoke out. "Let's save our stories for another time."

After a moment, the Dothraki gave a short nod of agreement before sitting down, giving a sigh as he'd calm down for now.

"Ugh…spoil sport…" The Shadow grumbled before resuming his arrow sharpening.

"So going back on the opening topic, I have to ask who hired you to kill the bloody king?" Marcus questioned, getting the meeting back on track.

"Five gold dragons on Queen Cersei." The Shadow quickly threw out with a chuckle, drawing a few glances. "What? If there is anyone who has more reason to get fat Robert murdered, it'd be her."

"If we were betting, you'd be right Shadow, Cersei Lannister hired us using a squire from her family. The assassination had to be set up to look like a Targaryen loyalist attack during his hunt, something to pin on the two over in Essos. Course that meant having to get a bunch of amateur sellswords instead of some professionals considering we had only a few days before the hunt."

"Why did you take the request then? Seemed below your usual standards considering." Marcus questioned. "Out of all of us I know you hate Robert the most, yet even you wouldn't make an attempt without being certain you'd succeed."

Zarin gave a small chilling grin before nodding. "You'd be right. If I had wanted Robert dead that day it would have been simple to just blowing up his tent or slipping poison into his wine. Cersei thought she was being so cunning with her plan…so short sighted." The old man had one hand stroke along his short beard. "What interested me though was a secondary request she had, killing Geralt of Rivia."

"The Witcher, Westeros newest most wanted?" The Shadow had a greedy look hint his lips as he'd draw out a wanted poster, with a worn yet accurate drawing of the scarred warrior. "Wanted dead or alive for…well…practically every crime I can think of. Course what makes this bounty worthwhile is the twenty thousand gold dragons."

"Seven, that's a fortune indeed." Marcus muttered.

"Considering that grand escape from the city and breaking that brat's hand, I'm surprised it isn't more." The Shadow chuckled a bit. "Anyway, I take Geralt made your assassination attempt complicated?"

Zarin nodded in response before he'd detail the events of the attack, from how they had been signaled by the Lannister squire, to wiping out the guards with a barrage of arrows and the following battle. Considering his honed memory, Zarin had no trouble detailed every aspect of Geralt's adaptive sword technique and other weapons such as bombs much like his own.

"I knew the best chance to…eliminating him was to get him into a situation where his guard be down. Lucky, the sellswords were fearful enough to surrender, giving me a perfect chance to throw a bomb between them."

"Yet obviously that didn't work." Marcus remarked. "But I know you never miss when it comes to using your explosives and other concoctions effectively, so it's obvious this Geralt had some trick to survive."

"More than just a trick really." Zarin paused as he'd look over at his fellow Grims. "Tell me, do you believe in the possibility of magic?"

"I've seen my mix of wisemen, witches and warlocks in Essos. Most are frauds who know how to fool people with the same knowledge you have…though at times I've seen some do unexplainable if minor things." Ogatto answered. "One group I can say has true power be the Faceless Men, though perhaps their perfect and deadly reputation makes them seem that way."

Doric simply nodded in agreement with the Dothraki's answer, though said nothing.

"Heh, seem my share of so called mages and the like, all claiming to be untouchable. Turns out they aren't, at least when I'm one testing them." The Shadow darkly chuckled.

Soon all gazes were on Marcus who was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed as he was deep in thought. "I'm not a superstitious man, despite what most think of Northerners. Between the myths of the Old Gods and the oddities I've seen long ago in Essos." He'd shrug. "Anything is possible, yet only with what I see with my own two eyes."

Zarin nodded, seeming pleased hearing his companions' opinions. "Then I will admit, this Witcher has some real magical power about him. Before the explosion I saw a him flex his fingers in a certain manner before a shimmer of light showed around. Whatever it was shielded him from the blast which should have ripped him apart like the sellswords. The blast still flung him far yet did little more then batter and bruise him. In a few moments he was back on his feet and seemed only winded."

"Seems more like luck was on his side that day." The Shadow chuckled out, seeming to let his arrogant habits get the better of him.

"Careful Shadow. Talk that foolish to our leader and he'll have to add another scar to what's left of your face." A smooth female voice spoke, her tone having an exotic accent hinting her words. All gazes looked in that direction to see their final guest, a lone slender figure dressed in a tanned wrap around cloak of Dornish style standing in the shadowy door way of the inn.

"Ugh…why does half the group need to sneak in. Ever heard of knocking?" Marcus grumbled in a gruff, jesting manner considering the small smirk he had.

The woman gave a charming chuckle hearing the innkeeper's joke before walking out into the light. Her skin was revealed to be a deep olive color, an obvious sign of her being from the exotic kingdom far south. Sliding back her hood, letting the group see her short cut black hair and her fair face fully. She was a woman nearing her thirties, her face sharp shaped jawline and nose, giving her a graceful appearance. There were faint hints of a scar at the lower right of her jaw and cheek, the skin being a lightly color there, though it did little to mar her beauty. What was most striking were her deep dark blue eyes, making her gaze seem nearly black in color. Under that cloak, she wore a fine set of scale like leather armor, custom fitted to shape over her slender figure and alluring curves. While the chest piece was short sleeved, she had plain colored silken clothing underneath for comfort and light protection. It was easy to tell that she was at peak fitness for her age, her body toned to have the perfect balance of strength and agility. In her right hand, she carried a long staff wrapped completely in tanned leather, though the pointed at hinted it wasn't a normal walking stick.

"We live dangerous lives, good Marcus. Even here I had to consider the possibility of a trap." The Dornish woman answered back, approaching the Northerner before gently caressing his bearded cheek. "Still, it is nice to see you after so many years…seeing all of you in fact."

Ogatto gave a small chuckle as he'd get up from his seat and move towards the woman, his strong arms wrapping around her waist to draw her close against him. "Hmm, I can say its been torturous for me. You should have let me come with you."

"I know you'd follow me to the ends of the world my dear bloodrider, yet this was a personal matter to me." She'd lean in to steal a short passionate kiss with the man, easing the Dothraki's imposing image for that moment as he returned that kiss.

"Ugh…get a room you two…" The Shadow muttered, rolling his eyes slightly.

"We very well might. Don't be jealous now Shadow." The Dorne woman teased as she'd move over to Ser Doric, the grey armored knight standing to greet her. "And how has my knight of stone been after so long."

"The same as always Lady Ayla, following my duties and vows as a knight" He formally answered, giving a short bow with what freedom his heavy armor allowed him. "Have your travels been safe? You aren't welcome in Dorne after all."

"The only people who care about me visiting my home Kingdom would be my family. I know how to avoid their attention, else I'd be enjoying a dusty prison cell or the headsmen axe." She replied before looking to Zarin. The alchemist had been silent as she'd greet her fellow Grims, though the old man had a fond look to the woman and a small welcoming smile.

"Its been a long time indeed Ayla." He'd shift up in his seat to give a warm hug to her, getting even an affection kiss to the cheek from her. "Its good you arrived, though I imagine you have been listening in for a while."

She'd nod in response before pulling up a chair to sit between Zarin and Ogatto. "I was curious to see what you all thought about this Witcher and recent events. Overall it seems this is the right moment to bring some real change to Westeros."

"Glad you agree. I value your insight when it comes to politics and without you we won't be able to bring true unity and freedom to this divided country." Zarin stood up from his seat, riffling through his red robes for a moment to take a small item out, though kept it hidden in his grasp. "Of course we do have some formality to do now that we're all gathered."

"Ugh…do we have to? The Shadow argued. "We know our titles and roles already. Why bother?"

"Formality and discipline. Traits you lack Shadow." Doric calmly stated, drawing an annoyed growl from the assassin.

"This may very well be our last meeting as Grims. Can't hurt to follow one tradition we have." Marcus added.

"Fine. Then let's get it over with." The Shadow reached into a pocket hidden in his leather garb, taking out a worn gold dragon coin, the metal black and having no luster to it. "The Grim of Shadows." He simply muttered, setting the coin on the Westerlands region.

"Will you ever bother saying your real name during that?" Ogatto questioned.

"No."

The blunt answer had the Dothraki shrug before taking out his own trinket, an ivory piece carved in the shape of a horse head. "Ogatto the exiled. Grim of the Red Wastes." He'd set his piece on edge of Essos.

Marcus had his turn now, taking out a weirwood carving of a snarling wolf head similar to House Stark symbol. "Marcus Ryen of the North. The Grim of the Hunt." He stated before setting his piece on the North.

Doric was next as he'd take out a piece of chiseled obsidian hidden around his neck, the piece shaped like a clenched fist. "Ser Doric of the Black Isle. The Grim of Stone." He spoke in that deep even voice before setting his piece on the Stormlands.

Alya took out a bronze pendent she had tucked around her neck, the symbol being a red sun with a spear pierced though it. "Alya Sand, exile of the Sand Snakes. The Grim of Vipers." Her piece was then settled on Dorne.

Then lastly was Zarin, who drew a black wood trinket shaped like a skull. "Zarin, the Red Alchemist. The Grim of Schemes." He'd lastly set his piece on top of King's Landing, a faint smile hinting his lips. "Let us continue our meeting then now that formality is done." Everyone sat down once more before the alchemist continued to speak. "Now there is one matter I wish to ask of you Shadow. Considering Robert's and Eddard's deaths, I want to know if you had a hand in them. I know you were in King's Landing at the time and their…passing is fitting of your skills."

"Well I can say I didn't get a chance to target Robert, though I know who killed the fat bastard. In fact, his killer was the same person who hired me to assassinate Eddard Stark." The Shadow answer, his tone having a calm boastfulness to it.

Across from him Marcus gave a low growl of anger. "You shouldn't be proud of that. If there was a good lord in this land Eddard was the one. He cared about the people and could have been more useful alive."

"If he was such a good person then why does he let the likes of the Boltons rule in the North? He was a soft and weak Warden, too fearful to take action after the Rebellion." The Shadow countered back.

For a moment Marcus seemed ready to lunge at the man, yet Ogatto had one hand grip the Northerner's shoulder to keep him in his seat. Garm below the table growled a bit, yet it only seemed to amuse the assassin.

"Enough arguing you two." Zarin spoke up, stopping any more argument. "I understand you have a respect and sense of loyalty to Eddard, yet Shadow does have a point. Eddard was doomed to die, be it from his sudden execution, in the chaos of his rescue attempt or by some other means."

"Maybe…" Marcus muttered, still having a hateful glare at the assassin. "So you hired you then? Tell me that at least."

"Heh, gladly. Petyr Baelish 'Littlefinger', Lord of the Fingers and current Master of Coin. A minor lord who has made some quite impressive grabs for power and riches. I also believe he planned Robert's poisoning as well."

"And how did you figure that out?"

"Simple, I bluffed and saw how he reacted. 'We know what you did' is a perfect line to get the cowardly and guilty to cringe."

"Then I'll be sure to get some real answers from him if I ever meet the man." Marcus muttered darkly, showing for the first time in quite a while, a vicious side to him few rarely saw.

Zarin glanced over his journal for a moment, seeming curious about Littlefinger. "He has his ties in money lending and minor criminal sources. Quite well informed, though quiet by the looks of it." He'd write down something into the log before speaking. "We'll keep an eye on him. He could be useful or a risk to our great goals."

"So then, what will be our roles during this civil war? I know that you and Alya will no doubt have work to do in King's Landing and then farther south within Dorne." Doric calmly questioned.

"You'd be correct. It's time we put our decades of connections and influence to full use." His gaze moved to Alya, who had a small knowing smile across her fair lips. "Do you have enough support with the nobles of Dorne?"

"Enough sway after all these years. I have plenty of eyes and ears within Sunspear, enough to know of my father's and uncle's plans." She'd give a small smirk as she'd lean over the table, eyeing the map closely. "They focus on petty vengeance over what happened to my aunt twenty years ago. I'll admit their plans are cunning, yet to delay for so long shows they are hesitant to take action."

"Thankfully Dorne will soon have a new leader with the will and ambition the country has lacked for so long." The alchemist commented back before looking back to the rest of his companions. "As for the rest of you, you'll all remain within the Riverlands. There are plenty of matters to take care of for both the Lannisters, Tullys and the Starks once they begin to make their first moves. However the Witcher is to be a priority for us."

"Do you want him dead?" The Shadow questioned as he looked over his copy of the Witcher's dossier.

"No, I want him alive. His value is beyond anything you can imagine. However you cannot simply rush against him, since we do not know fully of what he is capable of."

"So spying then, makes sense considering." Marcus muttered as he'd look over the map. "He'll no doubt take a role on the warfront in time. Plenty of chances to see what he can do."

"He'll be a worthy challenge indeed." Doric added, nodding his helmeted head slightly.

"Study every aspect of him, learn who his allies are, what possible weakness be they physically or mentally. I expect weekly reports on whatever is learned along with his actions across the region. When I feel we are ready, we will attack as one and outmatch him like we have against countless others."

"I hope it is soon then." Ogatto said with a grin, a wild thrill just hinting his gaze.

Marcus nodded, though there was a troubled look hinted his gruff face. "Zarin, there is one local matter I wish to talk about…involving someone I ran into about a week back." The alchemist gave a curious look before nodding to let the Northerner continue. "I ran into a young man when I was getting supplies for the Three Kegs, a bright lad from Raventree Hall named Hadrian Rivers. He alone, having escaped an attack on a search party he was with."

The name shared had a rare show of surprise in the older man's eyes, yet he was quick to hide it as he'd glance his gaze down in thought. "Interesting…what exactly happened."

"The boy was sent with a House knight and soldiers to investigate rumors of small villages and travelers disappearing within the last month. Heard of the gossip myself early on myself, thinking it was simply bandits or people leaving early when the whispers of war were heard." Marcus had a serious look as he'd stare right into man's calm gaze. "His group headed to High Heart, an old ritual site you no doubt studied in the past. When the search party neared, he claimed they were attacked by trio of…witches."

Ogatto and the Shadow both gave low chuckles of amusement at the claim, though Alya and Doric had curious looks instead. Zarin's expression didn't change though, remaining neutral yet attentive. "So a trio of witches. How exactly did they kill off such a well-armed group?" He calmly questioned.

Marcus detailed Hadrian's full story about the encounter, hiding nothing when he spoke about the more magical aspects the boy had seen. He'd continue on to include the attack they had also faced against the ghoul, which even he admitted had been a close call considering the creature's fierce and unnatural nature. By now the assassin and Dothraki had stopped their low jesting, both knowing that Marcus wasn't one to lie or exaggerate.

"Monsters and crones. I'd call any one else mad, but I know better then to say that to you." The Shadow sighed.

"This can be a troublesome matter." Alya added before looking to Zarin. "Perhaps the others can investigate this High Heart, learn just who these 'witches' are."

"They can easily be a wild factor to the coming war, magic or not." The alchemist muttered, pausing for a moment in thought. "If you feel this is worth looking into, I will respect your choice, though don't take any risks."

"Heh, we all know better then to rush off against an unknown enemy. We'll be cautious and be sure to report what we find." However before anything else could be said, Garm shifted from where he lay, his head snapping to the entrance way of the inn hall. The half-wolf growled deeply, making everyone look to the heavy doorways. "We have company it seems. You did lock the door behind you when you snuck in right?" The innkeeper questioned Alya.

"Of course."

There soon be a hard knock on the inn door, which repeated after a long pause, though stronger this time. The Grims gave odd looks to each other, except for Zarin who seemed relaxed in his seat. "Marcus…let them in."

"More of wondering who is 'them'." The Northerner questioned before there was another round of heavy knocking and muffled voices outside. "Wait, did you let someone follow you?"

"A loose end. Trust me on this Marcus."

Giving a small growl of annoyance, he'd glance to the bar where Sandra was, the woman having a concerned look as the knocking and yelling grew. "Sandra, go to our rooms and lock the doors up. You know what to do if trouble comes."

The woman sighed, seeming annoyed at what was happening, yet understood as she'd nod. "Be safe then…" She'd move to head to the right side of the hall and to the private rooms but stopped to quickly speak out. "Also I swear if you make a mess of the hall…I expect all of you to clean it up!" With that warning given, she'd slam the door shut.

"Quite the woman you have Marcus." The Shadow chuckled in a mocking manner.

"You best heed her warning. That woman will thrash you, best assassin or not." The innkeeper warned before there was a bang at the door.

"OPEN THE FUCK UP!" An annoyed voice yelled outside, at least piercing through the thick wooden door.

Sighing, Marcus gave one last stern look to Zarin, but the old man had a small amused smirk on his face. Making sure he had his trusty hunting knife tucked away under his work apron, Marcus hurried to the door. "Who are you? Can't you see we're closed?" He spoke out through the door, though he'd move to shift a wooden piece to look through a hidden peephole outside. With the sun low it was hard to see, though he could see it was a group of men dressed a variety of differing armor and sheathed weapon.

"Just a group of sellswords needing a quick meal and drink for the road." The man at the front spoke out, a gaunt scruffy man with a crooked grin. "So you can let us in and get a few coins for your trouble…or we kick this door down."

"Alright alright…" Marcus muttered, working the locks to open the doorway. He was on guard as he had one hand close to his knife, but the mercenaries didn't try to attack him as the filed in. There were fourteen men who were from all parts of the world as the innkeeper recognized Dothraki, Dornishmen and from varying Free Cities. Each had differ dyes coloring their armor and hair to represent their homeland or culture, making them a quite colorful and well-armed group. What was notable though was the band all of them hand shown off on their arms, shoulder or chest, a small white patch with a black goat with red horns being their banner mark. "Brave Companions…" He whispered, just being overheard by the group leader, who up close was in fact a Northerner.

"Hah, glad to see someone recognize us." The man chuckled before slinging one arm around Marcus's shoulder, partly tugging the innkeeper into the hall. It took Marcus a lot of self-control to not twist the man's limb off of him. "Surprised to see a fellow kinsman so far south, much less an innkeeper in this corner of the Riverlands."

"Life is full of surprises." Marcus muttered, obviously not amused though the sellsword either didn't notice or care.

The man chuckled, though it was cut short when he'd see the Marcus's companions standing or sitting at the central table. "Well well well…seems the circus has come to town." The rest of the men laughed a bit at the jest, though none of the Grims showed any amusement. Doric would tense up when he saw the black goat emblem on the men, a low grumbling coming from him "Bloody Mummers…murdering scum…"

The Brave Companions, while a younger mercenary company, already had quite infamous reputation. They were brutal towards prisoners and enjoyed pillaging helpless villages whenever work was short. The Companions also were amusingly not that brave despite the name, seeming to favor battles where they had the larger numbers or going against lesser foes. Despite that though, they had become successful on both sides of the Narrow Sea.

"Rude of you to use that lowly nickname and say such lies." The mercenary leader answered back dismissively while letting his arm off Marcus, so he could go get drinks for the sellswords. The group began to settle down at a nearby table, seeming eager to relax back after a long trek. "So what brings you five here to the Riverlands? Seeking mercenary work as well?"

"What makes you think that?" Alya coyly asked as she'd stare back, her gaze alluring yet having a predatory gleam to it.

"Because all of you are quite well armed for simple travelers…except the old man who I take is your leader, the brains of the group." The Northerner noted. "Don't let my gruff appearance fool you, I was picked to lead this group because of my sharp wit and perception."

"Interesting…then I'll admit you are correct." Zarin calmly answered back.

"Curious. I wonder how a small band like you plan to get involved in an all-out war. Smaller groups usually stick to smaller conflicts."

"You could say we're specialists." The Shadow remarked, giving a quite chilling grin that had the sellsword leader shiver slightly. "A group of misfits all with a common cause you could say."

Chuckling, the sellsword leader took a deep drink from his mug. "I feel like I'm getting more questions then answers from all of you."

"Then how about we ask one." Ogatto replied back with a small smirk. "What does the Brave Companions plan to do in this conflict?"

"Simple. Work for whoever will pay the highest." One of the men laughed out.

"Already sent notices to both sides, putting our starting price out. They'll no doubt want a small army like ours since we're in the heartland of the region." Another added.

"Whoever pays up first means we can start raiding their enemy and pick at their smaller defenses. Maybe we'll even snag a fort for ourselves."

"Bet the Lannisters will pay the most. Gold haired bastards toss coin around like it's nothing."

The mercenaries yammered about, though the group leader kept a close eye on the others, manly at Zarin. "That isn't the only reason why we're here though…isn't that right boys?" The men quickly quieted down, a sudden discipline about the noisy men. "See, we were sent out from the main force to look for two individuals who caused us a bit of pain a while back. An old man in red and a half-blind Dothraki."

There was a tense pause at that point, the cheerful side that the sellswords had not fully gone. Marcus was still by the bar, eyes narrowed as he could see how everyone shifted where they sat or stand, readying to rush forward or reaching for a weapon. Everyone except the mercenary leader and Zarin who had locked gazes right then.

"So then…why is the Brave Companions going so far to hunt an old man like me and a lonesome Dothraki?" Zarin casually asked despite the tension in the air.

"Oh the usual…fucking with us." The man remarked, though his last words had a hateful tone suddenly mixed in. "Was a mistake for our men to join such a risky job to kill King Robert, even though the payment was quite high." The man shrugged slightly. "Course, you had to go as far and kill a few of them. We were all surprised when one of our men returned to us crawling, face half melted nearly to the bone. Kept moaning about a red robed man and half blind Copper Skin backstabbing them before dying in the next hour."

Again there was a long pause. "So why not attack us on the road?"

"The boss had a feeling you were part of a larger group, wanted us to follow to take care of everyone. Why take down just two when we can wipe out the whole group." At this point the men still sitting started to stand up, a few giving eager grins as they knew a fight was coming. "Oh and Marcus…sadly you'll have to die too. Can't have any witnesses. Nothing personal."

The innkeeper was silent as he'd stand by the bar, giving a harsh gaze back at the sellsword.

"So then…any final requests before we end this?"

"More like a challenge." Ogatto suddenly spoke up as he'd set forward to be between the two groups. "I'll let one of you get the first blow on me, Ogatto, the White Eye Rider…the Grim of the Red Sands!"

The boasting titles drew some odd looks from the sellswords, though the claim of being a Grim drew a few low laughs. "A Grim? The boogeymen of Westeros? Their a fucking myth!" One of the men snapped out, a fellow Dothraki. "Though I do know that other title…one reviled by all of the Khalasars across the Great Grass Sea." He'd then spit at Ogatto's feet, the bloodrider only smirking back from the insult.

"What did he do exactly?" The group leader questioned.

"He questioned and broke our traditions, insulted the khals and disgraced himself in battle. Worse…in false mercy, he murdered a khal in cold blood along with his horse. There is no greater insult then that!"

Ogatto gave a low chilling chuckle, making the sellswords flinch in shock from it. That one pale eye having a glare of life show in it for that moment. "I did all of that to make a point. For our people followed men who are blind to our weakness, thinking we are feared when we are in fact an annoyance to the Free Cities. We are no longer destroyers of cities, but petty raiders of villages."

"Enough!" The Dothraki sellsword growled out, drawing a large knife from his belt. "I'll rip out your heart for the Khals to feast on!"

"Then come get it."

With that final dare given, the Dothraki lunged out lightening fast, his fellow men cheering him on. The other Grims stood by silently as they watched the scene, seeming unworried as their companion had left himself completely defenseless for a stab to the chest. Yet as the knife reached over his heart, there be a clang as the metal tip suddenly rebound off the bloodrider's chest. The Dothraki yelled out in shock, seeing that the knife tip had even broke off from the impact.

"How-?!" Yet he'd see it now through the ripped fur and leather, a hint of metal. It was a breastplate, copper tinted and without any luster, making it blend well under Ogatto's tribal garb and deep colored skin. At that point the Dothraki realized his fatal mistake as he saw the bloodrider's murderous grin.

"My turn." Suddenly both hands slammed to the side of the man's head with a resounding slam. The impact had the man yell out in pain as his ears were ringing, dropping his broken dagger from the powerful blow. Strong fingers then dug into the man's face, the thumbs digging into the eyes as the Dothraki's yelling soon became horrible screams. Ogatto gave a fearsome roar as his large arms bulged, body tensing as he'd then twist the man's head completely to the side. The screaming ended with a deep crack and a gurgling grunt as the Dothraki's neck was snapped, his head lolling about as Ogatto let go of him to fall limply to the ground.

"KILL THEM ALL!" One of the Brave Companions yelled in anger, the group quickly drawing their weapons to attack. Their leader though didn't rush in like the others, hanging back as he seemed to realize just how dangerous the others were.

Ogatto gave an eager laugh as he drew his Arakh off his shoulder strap, hefting the large curved blade with ease in one hand. "Join me Alya. Let's give them the dance of death!" The man roared out as he'd give a sweeping swing at the first sellsword to reach him, the scythe like blade and inhuman strength cutting deeply into his side. The man screamed and struggled in pain before being silenced as the Bloodrider withdrew his weapon and drove the long-spiked hilt into the man's forehead. The brutal kill drew surprised yells from the nearby men, shaken by the bloodrider's brutal skill.

"With pleasure." Alya chuckled, the leather wrap around her spear quickly thrown aside to reveal the fine weapon. The shaft of the spear was a deep red, with the bottom end having a metal cap fitting for a quarterstaff while the top end had a sharp spear head. The razor end was elegantly designed, having a bronze snake coiled around the upper shaft and lower end of the spear head base.

With a few quick strides, she'd lunge into fray and stab a mercenary through the chest, the fine steel piercing through cheap chainmail with ease. The man gasped and coughed up blood as she'd twist the spear inside of him before withdrawing, body twisting away in a graceful summersault. Soon she and Ogatto were back to back, the two fair skinned warriors working together to protect each other's flanks. They were outnumbered, yet only so many of the sellswords could surround and attack them at once. Plus, their long reaching weapons preventing the men from attacking as one in an overwhelming attack.

Alya spun her spear about, striking the blunt end of the weapon into the ribs of one warrior before lashing out with the spear blade to slice across another man's shoulder. Painful injuries, yet not enough to kill them. Ogatto was more aggressive, giving wide arching swings that could easily cleave a man in two. One Brave Companion got too close and soon had that Arakh sinking deep into his shoulder and halfway into his chest before being punched across the face, forcing him off the blade and tumbling dead onto his reeling companions.

"Back away and form up! Defensive now!" Their leader yelled out, trying to rally his men. They'd quickly back away from the Blood Rider and Sand Snake, both watching the sellswords armed with shields set up a protective formation. "Now press forward. Don't break the line!" The group advanced, shoving and kicking any tables or chairs out of the way as they'd approach Grims.

"Your turn Doric." Ayla stated, the armored knight having gotten up when the fighting began.

He had his large shield and mace out, both heavy weapons which he carried with ease. Stomping forward to be in the path of the sellswords. "Your defense is flawed. No united pattern." The man deeply stated as he'd shift his stance out, left side forward and shield out.

"Don't back down. Overwhelm him!' The Brave Companion captain spoke out, drawing a determined yell from the group.

The shield wall closed in on Doric, yet the knight kept his forward stance still. Suddenly his shield armor lashed out in a short yet powerful bash, aimed at the joining point of two mercenary shields. The lack of proper bracing made both men stagger back, leaving them and their companions just behind them exposed. Flowing from the bash, Doric's mace crashed downward onto one shieldman's head, caving half of it in as gravity and pure strength pulverized flesh and bone.

"Force him back damnit!" The group obeyed, weapons and shields lashing out at Doric, yet the man didn't move an inch as the group counter attacked. His shield blocked most blows from the left while his braced stance let him ward off blows to his armored right. The heavy armor did well protecting him from bladed attacks, yet even blunt blows seemed to do nothing to him even as the metal armor showed dents. Not once did Doric grunt or show any pain as he'd seemingly held the group back while continuing to strike out with shield and mace.

"Together damnit!" One Companion growled before getting his nose broken by a shield strike, making him stagger back and weaken the defensive line even more. By now Ogatto and Ayla quickly moved up to take a spot beside Doric, the Dothraki on the left and Ayla on the right. The Dornwoman took advantage of her reach to deliver quick stabs and slashes with her bladed spear, the men unable to defend quickly since they had been focused on attacking Doric's more exposed right side. Ogatto meanwhile would lunge in every time the knight's shield bashed the Companions back, giving a fierce yell as he'd slice and hack away at the staggered sellswords. Between the three they took down four more, making the men's moral waver. Even the level-headed Companion leader was becoming shaken and losing his calm.

"How in the Hells can they fight so…coordinated!" He cursed to himself, directing the men to back away and take a tighter formation now as they tried retreated to the main door out.

Suddenly, a barbed arrow shot from behind a support beam and right into one Companion's neck, making him go wide eye and grasp at the arrow in reaction. He'd try to pull the wicked arrow out only to rip out half his throat before dropping to the ground, gagging as he choked on his own blood. Stepping into view, the Shadow gave a quite evil grin as he'd nock another arrow and fire at another sellsword, the man yelling out as the missile ripped deeply into his shoulder.

"You didn't think I'd miss out on the fun either?" The assassin chuckled, as he'd soon stand in the of the Brave Companions escape.

The five remaining mercenaries were trembling as they stood back to back, disturbed by just how brutal these strangers were. Their leader looked about nervous, trying to think of some new tactic or escape plan, but he didn't see any way out. "Alright…we…we made a mistake threatening. Surely we can cut a deal."

"Ah deal you say?" Zarin at last spoke, the man shifting out of his seat as he'd pace over to the group. Marcus also joined up, the man having taken his heavy crossbow off from it's mount, the impressive weapon loaded with a strong bolt. Garm was beside him growling at the men who'd flinch at the sight of the fearsome half wolf. "You aren't one to make demands here and you had plenty of chances to back off…friend."

"I can give you information! Details the Brave Companions plans. Army movements supplies and more." The Northerner quickly answered back. "Just let me and my men go in return."

The Shadow and Ogatto chuckled out at the man's offer, seeming quite amused. "What makes you think Zarin can't get the answers himself…or has them already?" The Dothraki stated.

At that point one of the men suddenly broke away from the group, trying to rush to the doorway. The Shadow didn't bother to stop him as the man slammed into the heavy doorway, realizing the assassin had locked it. Before he could even turned around, Marcus fired a bolt right into his back, the powerful crossbow making it pierce right through him and stab into the doorway. Pinned to the door, the man gave gasping breaths before slumping forward, dead.

"The thing is all of you are parasites to the world." Zarin calmly stated as he stepped forward, the other Grims closing in as well. "You are all lowly cowards, men take and destroy instead of build and protect. All of knew what you knew what the Bloody Mummers were about…the raiding…"

The Shadow fired another arrow, going right into one Companion's eye.

"…the murdering…"

Doric slammed his mace into another sellsword's cut, making him choke up blood before being smashed to the ground by a shield blow.

"…the raping…"

Ayla twirled her spear about, the Companion she lunged thinking it was a stab only to get the bladed edge sinking right into the side of his face.

"…and torture."

The last grunt screamed as he tried to rush away, hoping to find some escape at the back of the hall. Aiming and firing, Marcus shot a bolt right into the man's knee to have him howl out and tumble, before Garm rushed in. His yells of pain were short lived as the half-wolf bite down onto his throat and thrashed.

Zarin slowly paced forward to the Companion leader, the man holding up his hand axe in defense. He was trembling, his usual composure at it's limit as he stared down the calm alchemist. "Killing me and my men just delays your end." He muttered, trying to seem imposing with his threatening warning. "The Companions are over two hundred strong and will not stop until all of you suffer a slow death. What can the six of you and one mutt possibly do against an army?"

"You'd be surprised. It only takes one person to topple a nation, all it takes is the right steps to do so." The alchemist casually stated as he'd take out a pair of fine leather gloves that were a deep red color. "The Bloody Mummers will be the first casualty of the new revolution, a loss no one will morn over." With a flick of his right wrist, a gleaming dagger slipped out from the sleeve of his robe. "Now then…any last words?" The other Grims stood back as they let their leader take on the Companion, not seeming worried for him.

"To the Hells with you old man!" Quickly the sellsword lunged out, large hand axe swinging out for Zarin's neck.

The alchemist though was faster, dodging aside before his dagger plunged into the man's right elbow, ripped through joint with ease. Twisting and turning the weapon, he'd quickly disarm the man as he'd drop his weapon and howl in pain as his arm was forced back. His anger drove him on though as he'd last out with a left hook, yet the alchemist leaned back to avoid it while withdrawing his weapon from the man's arm. Zarin ducked from another punch, slipping up close to the man as his dagger again stabbed out, aiming for left armpit. With the man's arm lashing out, it was completely exposed for a fatal attack. The Companion gave a deep grunt as the blade sunk into him, bypassing the breastplate he wore. The blade slipped between his ribs, pierced right through the left lung and just sunk into his heart. With what air the man had, he'd gasp up thick blood as his one good arm grasped at Zarin's shoulder, though it was hard to tell if it was in a fighting or pleading manner.

"Painful isn't it? I wonder how many loves you've ruined and tormented yourself with the same pain." The alchemist coldly whispered while the Companion face a choking growl as he clung to life. "When I am done…Westeros will never have to suffer from your filth or the cruelty of tyrants." With that he'd twist the dagger sharply, making the man give another shaken breath before he'd go limp as his heart was diced within him. Withdrawing the blade, he'd wipe the blade clean off of the dead man's clothes before letting him drop to the ground surrounded by his fellow sellswords.

"A bit over dramatic don't you think?" The Shadow chuckled as he'd prod one of the dead Companion's to make sure he was dead. "He was a nobody after all."

"You are right." Zarin sigh, seeming to have returned to his usual formal demeanor now that the sellswords were wiped out. He'd carefully tuck his dagger back into a hidden sheath strapped to his forearm.

"Quite the fucking mess we've made here…" Marcus sighed, looking over the fourteen sellswords and puddles of blood everywhere. "Why is it when we get together this stuff happens?"

"Bad luck?" Ogatto chuckled with a grin before glancing to Ayla.

"These men deserved it. After all they were planning to kill you even if you weren't a Grim…and you family…" Ayla remarked, though seeing Marcu's intense glare had her stop speaking.

"Let us not be distracted by the 'what ifs'." Zarin sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "I apologize Marcus for bringing so much trouble to your home. I didn't expect the Bloody Mummers to send such a large force to hunt us down."

The Northerner gave a small grunt of annoyance yet nodded his head slightly. Pacing over to the slain leader, he'd be silent in thought before speaking. "So can we do it Zarin? The six of us against not just the Brave Companions but possible against the Lords of Westeros? I know I shouldn't be doubtful right now…but the risks are great…"

"I have worked for thirty years to prepare for this Marcus, I know the risks better then anyone." The alchemist muttered, his gaze drifting over his companions. "I chose the five of you because you have the skills and drive to bring real change to this world. If any of you have any fear or doubt now, you are free to leave without worry of punishment." Pausing, he'd again look around the surrounding Grims who remained where they stood.

"I swore an oath to follow your lead no matter what. Your vision of the future is the best course for all of Westeros and perhaps the rest of the world." Doric answered back with a short respectful bow.

"You've been a mentor for half my life. Without you I would have wasted my potential or died long ago." Ayla remarked. "Dorne will at last have a real place with the rest of Westeros and end the corruption this divided nation has suffered for generations."

The Shadow was silent for a long moment, yet for the first time since this meeting he had a thoughtful look in his gloomy eyes. "You saved my life, so I owe you for that. Can't say I care much fixing the world's problems…" The assassin paused, almost as if debating if he'd say something deep and meaningful as the others. In the end he'd give a small smirk. "Fuck it. Can't deny the fame and riches we'll get, so no backing down here."

Ogatto gave a wide grin and nodded. "Westeros isn't my home…never will be. Yet what we will accomplish will shake across all of Esso. To the rulers of the Free Cities, the Masters of Slavers Bay and the Khals of the Dothraki. All of them will have to adapt or be wiped out over what is to come."

Last was Marcus, the Northerner pacing slightly as he'd look between his fellow Grims with that narrow gaze of his. "I'm a simple man. A hunter…a soldier…father. Never wanted to go against Lords and Kings." His hands gripped his crossbow tightly. "Yet in the end they are the one who forced my hand. I may be common blood, yet my life and that of my family is worth just as much as theirs!" He'd give a low growl and nod. "For the sake of my family and all honest folk, I'll stand with all of you."

With their speeches all given, Zarin gave a pleased smile to his companions. "I expected nothing less." His gaze drifted down to the surrounding dead with a dismissing look. "So for everyone who will remain in the Riverlands, you now have to remove these parasites from becoming too involved in the civil war. We can't take down a whole army, but all we need to do is break their will to fight."

"Oh I have a good feeling on what you have in mind." The Shadow chuckled eagerly.

"Put a bounty notice out in every town and outpost you go for the emblems and heads of the Brave Companions. I want at least five thousand on Vargo Hoat himself. If he dies the Companions will become divided by infighting. The group may even turn on itself if the reward is that appealing…or we spread enough fear to have them divide." He'd again glance over their slain enemies, a smirk on his face. "Our foes are a cowardly bunch as you can see. They will crumble with ease."

"By the Seven, Old Gods and…UGH, all the Faiths on the world!?" A sudden female voice yelled out, making everyone glance back to see Sandra standing by the doorway from the private quarters looking over the remains of the recent fight. Her face was paled at the gory sight, yet the woman kept composed as she'd snap out. "Zarin! Your meeting is over! Get this…slaughter cleaned up…all of it!" With that she'd slam the door, leaving an awkward silence over the group.

Sighing, the alchemist moved to his bag to collect out bottles and other mixtures for the task ahead. "How rude of me to ignore such a matter, much less as a guest."

"You do know that its going to take us all night just to get all these bodies removed and blood cleaned up." Ayla sighed as she'd already start picking up the dropped weapons set up and getting them piled up.

"Morning if since we have to dump the bodies away from here." Doric added as the large knight grabbed two corpses and began to drag them for the door outside.

"Then you best all do an excellent job. If my wife see's one drop of blood you'll rather be facing the Mountain, Jaime and the Witcher instead." Marcus warned as he lugged one body over his shoulder. Despite the carnage around them, the group couldn't help but start to chuckle and laugh at the Northerner's jesting warning. In a way they were like a family, if one formed from strife and blood. Yet that kind of bond and comradery could be enough to topple a nation.

…

 **Catelyn Stark – The Riverlands – Riverrun**

Never in all her life had Catelyn as much anxiety as she had in just the last few months. Between the crippling fall for Bran, watching half of her family leave home and then hearing the shocking news coming from King's Landing. She had been traveling slowly since leaving the capital, not wishing to exhaust herself like she did when coming south. When news came on the road of her husband being arrested for treason, she had been quick to change her route to Riverrun to seek aid from rest of House Tully.

When she arrived, she learned of the troubling news of her father suffering under a terrible illness, something he had kept secret to only a select few, leaving her brother Edmure in charge of his duties. She wanted nothing more then her family to gather their men and march south in defense of her husband yet knew such a rash move would only worsen the situation.

"Only worsen…" She muttered to herself, bowing her head slightly. Glancing down at the desk she was sitting at, she'd read over the fourth letter she had been writing, this one to her sister in the Eyrie. She wish she could do more then write pleading letters, but for now that was all she had to rely on. Before she could continue writing, there be a knock at the door and the voice of a servant speaking though it.

"Lady Stark…your Lord Edmure and Ser Brynden are requested you to come to The Great Hall for special meeting."

Curious, she'd get up and grab her cloak before opening the door to gaze at the shy servant girl. "At this hour? What is the reason for this?"

"I…it seems a strange trio of women have come to pay respects to your brother my lady. They claim to have news about your husband and children."

The part mentioning had a surprised look show on Catelyn's face as she'd quickly hurry pass the servant and heading through the winding halls to the Hall. She knew she shouldn't be so excited by this, since she knew nothing of these visitors, yet if had to know of what happened to her family after the harrowing escape from King's Landing. It had been over a week since then and so had to know what had happened to them all. Reaching the Great Hall speedily involved crossing the lush Godswood, following a clear trail from the main keep to the Hall itself. Arriving, she'd find her uncle and brother already seated at the head table, Edmure at his place in the high seat.

Edmure was a dashing clean-shaven man with a broad strong jaw, short cut auburn hair and sharp deep blue eyes. He had a lean muscular build, expect of him considering he was next in line to lead House Tully since it's Lord to be capable for battle. She just hoped his hot-headed nature and near blind desire for women didn't get the better of him.

Her uncle Brynden or better known as the Blackfish was an example of what Edmure may look like in his later years. His hair was now a deep gray and face wind-burnt, though his own blue eyes had not lost their fierce luster. Despite his age he too was quite fit, having kept to his strict training even during these peaceful times. Being a veteran of over fifty battles was no small feat and he was planned to increase that number with the next conflict.

"I have a bad feeling about these guests, Edmure. Its improper that you let strangers in so late, much less the type claiming to be 'seers'." The Blackfish muttered. He and his nephew often argued, though Brynden did it out of stern advice.

"They claim to have information about Lord Eddard and his daughters. Rumors and guessing will only get us so far, so can't hurt to see what these three sisters have to offer."

"From what the guards say they are an odd bunch, foreign though not seeming to be from Essos." At this point Brynden would see Catelyn, giving a short nod to her as she'd take her seat close by. "Could you convince your brother to reconsider this meeting? For all we know this could be a ruse of some fortune tellers."

"Uncle…I know this may seem informal, yet we're desperate for some truth. If they demand payment, then we will refuse them and send them away. Surely that is a good compromise." She calmly answered back.

"Waste of time this is…" The Blackfish muttered. before the main doors into the hall were pushed open.

Four guards filed in followed by three women dressed in quite common clothes fitting of peasants, though crafted out of fine materials. Their garb was a mix of work dresses and aprons, though each one had a few extra accessories such as one wearing a red cone hat, another vialed headdress and the other carrying wicker basket full of bottles drinks and brew at her hip. One thing they all shared was the fact they were all breathtakingly beautiful, having full curvy figures and soft comely faces. One thing for sure was that Edmure had an appealed gleam in his eyes, much to his uncle's annoyance.

The trio approached the high table before stopping to give low respectful bows to the gathered Tullys.

"Lord Edmure…"

"…Ser Brynden…"

"…and Lady Stark…"

"We are honored for this sudden audience." All three said at once as they again gave a low bow. Their voices did have an odd tone to it, very unlike the accents common to the Riverlands or the neighboring Kingdoms.

The three Tullys gave curious looks between the visitors and then themselves, finding this greeting to be quite…different. "Wonder how long they rehearsed that." Brynden whispered to Catelyn with a low chuckle.

"They are a bit eccentric that is sure." She muttered in agreement as the three women stood up from their bow. "I wonder how they knew my name though. I've only been home for little more then a month and in secret."

Her uncle glanced back at the women with questioning look, rubbing across the scruff of his chin in though. His nephew though was quick to greet back their odd guests.

"Thank you for such a kindly greeting. It seems you already know us already, though we can not say the same for you." He answered back formally.

"Our names are quite…unique, good Lord. My name would be Whispess, eldest and leader of our group." Said the woman with the hooded vale. She'd then gesture to her sisters, first to the one with the cone hat. "This would be Weavess…" Then to the one with the basket of bottles. "and Brewess. The three of us are Seers who have taken home at a place you call Highheart."

Again the Tullys leaned in to speak to themselves. "Odd names indeed. Those surely can't be their real names." Catelyn whispered. "Also Highheart, that is a barren hill just to the southeast of here. Nothing there but Weirwood stumps."

"They are definitely foreign. I get that Highheart has been abandoned since the time of the Andels, at least in legend, yet I question their right to take ownership of it. Besides, we have gotten reports of disappearances around those woods."

"Then perhaps we should ask them about that." Edmure muttered before speaking up towards the three sisters. "I can tell you three aren't from Westeros. May I ask what brought you to that ancient hill in the first place?"

Weavess would step forward to answer. "Because of prophecy. The hill is sacred despite being uncared for generations and we seek to restore it to its former glory."

" _Already life blooms under our care. Our rites and elixirs do such wonders."_ Brewess added.

"Another question, would you happen to know of the odd disappearances throughout the woods there?" Edmure asked.

"Odd stirring are about that is for sure. Yet we can not say good lord, for we've kept to the hill and surroundings woods ever since finding it." Whispess formally answered. "But surely you wish us to answer more concerning questions. Our gift of sight shows us many things, such as the fate of the dear Lady's husbands and children."

"Forgive me if I'm doubtful on such claims. I've heard plenty of promises from soothsayers and fortunetellers, more then enough to know they are fakes."

A faint smirk was just seen under the seer's vale, seeming amused by the knight's remarks. _"Harsh words Blackfish. Always the outsiders within your family yet driven to impress. Why else would you thrown yourself battle after battle, facing greater odds?"_ However, she'd stop when she saw the man's scowl, hinting that she right with her prediction.

"Do not trouble the man trouble the man with the truth sister, we are here to aid the worried mother." Weavess added, giving a short bow to the Tullys and looking to Catelyn. "Do you wish to hear what our sight has shown, even if it brings pain to you?"

There was a tense silence as Catelyn looked to her uncle and brother. Brynden had a sharp glare in his eyes, showing the seer's words about him had struck a nerve. Edmure though seemed quite curious over what he had heard so far. In the end, she'd nod to the three sisters in agreement. "Tell me then…the worse parts first."

"Brave of you to ask of that. A strong woman as the signs say." Brewess cooed.

"The Warden of the North, Old Wolf of the House of Stark, is dead." Weavess calmly stated.

"Felled by the cruel arrow of a living shadow." Whispess finished.

Catelyn trembled hearing what the seers said. Their words while vague had deep meaning to them and the way the three looked at her showed no lies from what she could tell. "Tell me more. Everything…how he was captured…what happened to my daughters…all of it."

"A fraud trial he was condemned, having learned a truth taboo and vile."

"Torn between love and honor, he chose family before all else."

"Yet the false boy king forgo reason for selfish malice, wanting death instead of false justice."

"Those loyal, priest of red, fencer and slayer of monsters intervened…"

"…hurrying dying Lord and mourning daughters to the isle of black stone."

"Black stone? Only place could be Dragonstone." Edmure muttered to his sister. "Eddard mentioned that Stannis was the true heir to the Iron Throne. It make sense they'd flee there."

"And it explain why we got no direct messages from them as well. They must assume you are still returning to Winterfell." Brynden muttered, giving a sideward glance to the seers. "These women must have some far-reaching ties to know this…are masters of guessing…or…"

"Magic?" Edmure chuckled.

"Bloody fantasy that is." The Blackfish lowly growled. "Hate how they talk in turn and have to be so vague on very sentence! I prefer straight answers not damn riddles!"

"Yet when you think over every word, it makes sense." Catelyn calmly pointed out. "What matters is my daughters are safe at Dragonstone and that Geralt is watching them."

"A no more capable man considering. Ignoring the false claims the Lannisters have, he seems to be a one-man army. He'll get Sansa and Arya to the North safely."

"If you will excuse us interrupting your graces, we do have more to say. There is nothing else we can share about Lady Stark's daughters, but we can offer other services to you."

"Such as?' Edmure curiously questioned.

"Potent brews and cures, advice, mystic knowledge and of our sight." Weavess stated.

"We seek only the stability of the Lords and people in the Riverlands. With civil war threatening your lands, we'd be a valuable ally." Brewess added.

"All we ask is that we have official ownership High Heart and the boundary woods. We seek to make it a…haven for those needing aid and comfort. Many people will be displaced by the conflict. We have great experience tending to the orphaned young as well." Whispress finished.

"I don't trust them." Brynden muttered. "We know too little of them and who knows what they haven't told us."

"Worried about three charming women living on an empty hill uncle? We'll keep a close eye on them, see if there is anything odd about them. However they could prove useful if they are willing to help for little to nothing."

"Which is what worries me. Everything has a price, no matter how freely offered."

Edmure paused in thought, looking between uncle and sister before glancing at the three sisters. His gaze drifted over their alluring bodies and soft charming faces. They seemed to notice his glancing interest, giving a sly smiles and glares to him. "This…is a matter I will have to think over. Still I will allow you to stay at High Heart and will send a messenger once I've decided."

"As you see fit Lord Edmure." Whispress replied before she and her sisters gave a short bow. "Then we will take out leave but be weary in the coming weeks."

"For the woods will be thick with the dead…" Weavess followed up.

"…and the rivers thick red with blood." Brewess added.

With that the three turned to leave, sandaled feet patting across the ground. Low chuckles and giggles escaped from them, which was chilling as it seemed to become a more witchy cackle as the door behind them closed shut. Cateyln felt shaken after that grim warning and knew that things were about to get much worse for her whole family.

"Robb…Bran…Rickon…Sansa and Arya…by Old Gods and New please be safe…" She whispered to herself while her uncle and brother gave worried looks to her as she'd silently hold back tears.

…

"Quite a good first impression yes?" Whispess chuckled

"Edmure was nearly love struck. Did you see how he eyed me." Brewess giggled.

"Such a lustful man. He will be easy to toy with once we get out claws on him." Weavess remarked.

"We have plenty of choices if he proves too difficult. These Lannisters to the south could be a useful tool…and when the young Robb marches from the North he could be controlled."

"The minor Houses should be our focus. So much old hates and ambitions, easy to warp to our needs."

The three Crones looked over Riverrun from the cover of the thick woods, all of them now in their more monstrous true forms. They had been getting strong in the last few weeks, the growing magic and fresh meat of humans having restored their power quickly.

"We must play to our guise sister. If we reveal too much our true nature, we will have to take more…forceful steps to build our army." Whispress glanced to Brewess. "How has your experiments been going with the Pit? We need more then the ghouls if we wish to strike out."

"Oh I have something my better cooking. Been hunting all the beasts needed to create a chort for us, perhaps a fiend if the Pit's power is a strong as we believe."

"Then focus all your attention and power to it. Weavess and I will see to dealing with Raventree Hall and the troublesome boy. The Blackwoods may be a minor House, yet they influence could be annoying to deal with." The crone gave a grin under her vail. "Winter is coming sisters…we must be strong for the 'sake' of all of Westeros."

…

 **Notice: A different chapter but expect Geralt and Ciri next chapter. I do hope the Grims will be an interesting addition to this crossover, since they are my way of addressing changes and certain flaws within the original story. I'd love to have some feedback on the group and if people would like a possible spinoff series touching up on their past. So please message me, drop a review or chat on the forum.**

 **I've realized my chapters have been getting longer and longer each time, which in turn makes updates slow to keep up to quality. I'm wondering if I shouldn't split these longer chapters into smaller ones just, so everyone has more constant content. I don't want to seem slow or losing interest after all. Anyway I will set up a poll for this, so please go vote here on my profile.**


	28. S2-E4: The Grey Princess

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Grey Princess**

 **Forward: I live! Terribly sorry for the big wait on this chapter. As always big thanks to Rainsfere for edits on this chapter!**

 **One Week Later – Geralt – Dragonstone – Mid Morning**

Geralt surveyed the ruins around him, one of many old fortifications that were scattered across Dragonstone, this one having been a watch outpost for the eastern end of the island. While the roof was long gone, half the walls crumbled and only a third of an upper floor remained with a stairway leading up to it. He had been training Arya here to learn more about fighting and moving in different surroundings. King's Landing had reminded him how different it was to fight outside of the wilderness, since the confining spaces made fighting quite difficult. Today was one of her first real tests, putting everything she had learned at the Red Keep and over the last two weeks.

They had built a few training dummies with scrap metal attached to them, being examples of common armor types someone would wear. He knew the girl needed to understand how to deal with foes wearing heavier armor, since everyone else she sparred with favored lighter armor. They had also built a short balancing ledge with a simpler version of the pendulum like the one at Kaer Morhen. While it wasn't as big or had the large blunt spikes along the lower base, it was suitable enough to test the girl's balance and fighting coordination.

Arya had been advancing quickly in her training, despite how difficult and rough each new exercise became. Often, she'd end the day exhausted and sore, needing a whole day of rest before being able to continue. Even as she rested she'd study on the collection of books Geralt had on hand, mainly studies on monsters from his world. He hoped she wouldn't ever have to face the horrible creatures he had hunted countless times yet felt being informed could prepare her for the greater danger he knew lurked in the north.

"You got that tense look about you Geralt." Thoros remarked, snapping the Witcher from his thoughts. He'd glance to Arya who was busy practicing against the balance pendulum, the girl wearing her new set of Witcher training armor. Gendry and the other crafters had put quite the effort into the outfit, which had a Northerner style to it to make it unique in appearance yet practical in protection. The young girl had no trouble moving around, shuffling and twisting quite easily as she'd strike across the wooden pendulum before weaving around it to attack from the other side.

"A lot on my mind lately." Geralt muttered back to the Red Priest who chuckled in response.

"Its the damn waiting." The Red Priest said with a low growl. "Wish I was in the Riverlands now leading good men against the Lannisters, not cooped up on this blasted rock."

Geralt nodded in agreement. His biggest issue was dealing with Melisandre who constantly shadowed him whenever he was at the keep. She never approached him yet always she seemed to be snooping around his quarters or lurking around when he was talking with his companions. He still remembered what the Red Priestess had said to him on the first night coming to this island, seeming to know about Ciri's destiny. While he was desperate for some clues on her location, he wasn't going to let her manipulate him like she was doing to Stannis and his men.

Thoros nodded before his gaze drifted to the trail leading to Dragonstone, noticing two figures strolling towards them. "Seems we got company."

It was Sansa and Barristan, the two having a rare visit to check up on them. The eldest Stark daughter was dressed in a plain black dress and cloak, giving her a fair if gloomy appearance. She had requested darker garments for mourning her father at least until his remains were brought back to Winterfell. She had come to terms with his passing and seemed to be doing this out of a traditional respect. Barristan was wearing light plate and leather armor with tanned traveler's garb over it. He looked little more than an aged sellsword at a glance, an amusing turn from his iconic knightly appearance back in the capital.

"Good morning Geralt and Ser Thoros." Sansa softly greeted, the young woman giving a faint smile to them. Her gaze shifted to Arya who soon stopped swinging her practice sword at the swinging pendulum.

"Good morning to you as well." Geralt replied. "What brings you two so far out from the keep?"

"Simply for the fresh air and to check up on you three. You spend more time out here than at Dragonstone considering." Barristan chuckled. "I can say Lady Arya has improved quite well since I visited a week back. Fine balance indeed."

Arya grinned at the praise from the famous knight before she'd leap from the balancing beam in an impressive forward flip. It surprised her old sister who had a wide-eyed look before chuckling at how Arya gave a short bow. "Last time I saw you try that you fell over nearly a dozen times."

"Can only do that when I have something to jump off of. Not like I plan to do that in a fight." The girl chuckled as she stretched a bit. "I was worried my new armor would make it harder to move, yet it hardly weights me down."

"Witcher armor, even trainee armor, is meant to be like that. Agility will always be your best defense. The armor is meant to soften a blow if you make a mistake or the enemy is lucky."

"I'm curious Lady Sansa, have you taken thought of learning some self-defense?' Thoros suddenly asked to the young woman.

Sansa was silent for a moment, her gaze drifting to the ground as she seemed to remember the dreadful moment Joffrey had grabbed her on the execution stage. "I…have given it some thought since then. Barristan has been teaching me a few things." Shifting one arm, she revealed a sheathed dagger at her hip, partly hidden by the dress fabric.

"After she told me what happened in King's Landing, I thought it be best to show the girl the basis of using a dagger for protection. I can only hope she will never have to use it." The old knight explained.

"A wise choice." Geralt remarked with a short nod. "At the least you have plenty of free time to learn that since I doubt there is much to do within Dragonstone."

Sansa nodded a bit. "It is lonely at times really. I have spoken to Lady Selyse a few times, though she is a bit frightening at times. She's very devoted to the Lord of Light and seems bitter about her own daughter."

The Witcher had met the woman as well, though only during a few dinners at the keep. She always had an odd look towards him, though he wasn't sure if it was distrust or fascination. As for her daughter, he hadn't had a chance to meet Shireen who mainly stayed in her tower room. From what he knew, the girl had gotten Greyscale at a young age which was normally a death sentence. However, Stannis reached out to every Maester, healer and alchemist to treat her sickness, though it left the girl's face scarred and body sickly. He could understand why Stannis kept her confined to the keep, no doubt overly protective after what had happened.

"I think I saw her peeking out of a tower window once. She looks my age at least." Arya remarked. "Can't imagine how dull and lonely it must be up there."

The group started to chatter a bit, though Geralt wasn't paying too much attention on what was being spoken to. His gaze was set on Dragonstone in the distance or at least something just beyond the imposing structure. Faint dark shapes from the northwest, something only his sharp eyes could see from this far.

"Uhh…Geralt…are you alright?" Sansa muttered, making the Witcher look to her.

"There are ravens coming in northward. At least two from what I can tell." He muttered, already moving for the trail back to the keep. "If we head back now we'll arrive just before they do."

Both the Stark girls had excited looks in their eyes, knowing for sure one of the ravens was from their brother. The two hurried after the Witcher with Barristan and Thoros close behind. Everyone moved at a quick pace to return to Dragonstone. When they reached the main yard, they drew plenty of gazes from the soldiers and servants working about as they reached the heavy doors of the great keep. Geralt yanked them open, yet quickly stopped himself from running into Davos who was just behind them.

"Gah! Geralt…I should have expected as much." The sea captain chuckled nervously after his close-run in. "I was just coming to get you."

"Stannis is calling for everyone I take?"

"Indeed. I already informed Lord Beric who's already in the map room along with Melisandre. Lady Sansa and Arya have also been requested to take part since this is a family matter after all."

Both girls looked to each other, a nervous hint showing on their faces hearing this. Sansa had spoken with Stannis in a few early meetings and she found the man quite intimidating even though he was respectful and formal to her. For Arya she had only been around the man during group dinners and she hadn't said much beyond formal greetings and short polite remarks. They knew right now that this meeting could decide the fate of their brother, the North and themselves.

"Of course. We want to have our say in this meeting." Sansa replied, trying to sound determined.

"Then let's not keep King Stannis waiting." Davos lead the way through Dragonstone and up to the map room. Much like before, the hall was lit up with surrounding braziers to keep it warm from the harsh winds that flowed from the open balcony. At the head of far end of the table was Stannis with Melisandre sitting at his right. Beric sat on the left side of the table, sitting a chair away from Stannis which was reserved for Davos. The Painted Table had drinks and food set up for the meeting, showing this would be quite a lengthy discussion

"Lady Sansa and Arya…Geralt…" Stannis calmly greeted with a short nod which the three respectfully returned. Everyone then took their seats with Sansa sitting next to Beric, followed by Geralt beside her, Arya after him and lastly with Thoros. The Red Priest was quick to get cups poured for the group, though he seemed eager for a drink after so long.

"So I take everyone knows about the ravens that just arrived. I can confirm one is from Lord Robb and another from Lady Catelyn." Stannis stated, getting right to the point.

"Mother? She already returned to Winterfell?" Sansa remarked with a questioning look.

"Perhaps it is best you read her letter yourself." Stannis handed the sealed letter to Davos who in turn passed it on to the young woman.

Quickly she'd break the wax seal and unfold the letter, her eyes rapidly shifting as she read it over a few times. She'd give a shaky breath before a faint smile hinted her lips, seeming happy over what she read. "She's in Riverrun right now working with our relatives there to help Robb from there." She'd pass the note to Arya who read it over, who also seemed glad over what the letter said.

"I'm glad she's safe." Arya remarked before offering the letter to Geralt. "She even wrote about you, if you want to read it...though I'm confused on what she is apoglizing for."

Geralt simply nodded before taking the letter, glancing over it for himself.

 _ **To my dear Sansa and Arya,  
I hope the advice I have been given is correct and that both of you are safe on Dragonstone. I would cross the Mountain of the Moon and Blackwater just to reach both of you, yet my place is best suited here in Riverrun. I know what happened to Eddard, yet while we mourn we must press onward. We all know that is what he would want. I ask that both of you care and support each other no matter your differences. I prey to the Old Gods and New that we will reunite one day soon.  
To Geralt and all the brave men who risked their lives to save my family, you have my eternal thanks. I hope I will have a chance to personally apologize to you Witcher for my rash actions back at the capital and for misjudging you. I know you will protect my family as if they were your own, which has me at ease.  
To all of you, please stay safe.  
Lady Catelyn Stark**_

The Witcher was curious on how Catelyn had known to send this letter here, though perhaps it had been rumor or deduction from someone she knew. Overall it was good to know she was safe and in fact doing her own part with her family in the Riverlands. He had worried that she'd be still frustrated with his interference back in King's Landing, yet it seemed she had learned from that experienced and focused on more pressing matters.

"Thank you, Lord Stannis for giving us this message." Sansa said formally to the Lord, who gave a short nod of thanks back.

Stannis nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he pondered over Catelyn's message. Melisandre had a sly gleam in her eyes as well, leaning in to whisper something to Stannis who glanced slightly to her, yet didn't reply back. Geralt though had an idea what was going on through the Baratheon's mind. The Tully's had one of the strongest bannermen within the region and the loyalty of countless Houses who either had large or elite forces. Combining them with the North's own armies would be a powerful combination, one that could be a great threat to Stannis. It was hasty to share such information, yet Geralt didn't blame Sansa considering her formal nature.

"Then I hope she has success in uniting the Riverlands. Much of this war will take place there after all." Stannis bluntly stated. "However, I feel it is time we move onto your brother's letter." He'd hold up the folded paper, gaze drifting to Geralt. "I feel it be best for Ser Geralt to read this, since this was done under his advice."

It was an odd choice, but the Witcher didn't question it as he accepted the letter passed to him. If anything he was eager to know what Robb had written back, hoping the young man had made the right choice. Breaking the seal and unfolding the letter, he began to read.

" _ **To Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms.  
I wish to thank you deeply for taking in my sisters and valued friends under your care despite the risks. It shows the strong sense of honor you have, which my father often praised. I mourn his passing, yet I focus my attention on an enemy we mutually share, House Lannister  
I have gotten my father's letter accusing the royal children being bastards of Cersei along with him proclaiming your right to the Iron Throne through his letters and will, a claim that I fully accept."**_

"Well…that is good news so far." Davos sighed, seeming relieved with what was read so far. "It seems Lord Robb supports the right you have to become King, so this must mean he's open to alliance."

"Let's not be hasty now Ser Davos. The Witcher hasn't finished yet." Melisandre quickly added.

"She is correct." Geralt muttered before continuing.

" _ **I am willing to offer the might of the North to work with you in forcing the Lannister's armies back and reclaiming King's Landing. However while I have a duty to Westeros I have my own part in caring for the North. House Stark has suffered the loss of two Wardens because of the greed and politics of the south, along with countless bannermen who have died in battle as well.  
The Lords of the North are confident in warring against the Lannisters, but many do not respect your claim to the Iron Throne. Many of them wish to separate the North from the other Kingdoms, to once again become independent. I will confess the idea appeals to me considering the betrayal and loss we've had.**_

Geralt did pause for a moment to look at Stannis who was visibly tense. He did well to hide his hint of anger, yet it showed just how risky this message was becoming. Davos had a nervous look on his gruff face, no doubt trying to get a convincing argument set up. As for Melisandre, she kept that calm look, making it hard to figure what she was thinking. The Witcher glanced back at the letter and continued to read.

 _ **I need my fellow Lords if I plan to defeat the Lannisters and in turn you need them if you wish the full might of the North backing you. I promise you I will not war against you so long as you return my family to me, but to have my bannermen on your side you need to give them something in return. I ask that you meet me and my fellow Lords at White Harbor to negotiate a proper alliance. Show the North that you can be a just leader.  
From Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North.**_

With the letter finished, he'd fold the parchment close before handing it back to Stannis. The room was silent except for the whistling of wind from the open balcony. The stern Lord accepted the letter which he'd read silently himself, a sharp look showing in those eyes.

"This is a difficult matter indeed." He coldly muttered as his gaze drifted over to Geralt's side of the table. That stare was quite intimidating, enough to make both Stark sisters shiver in their seats for a short moment. "You brother supports my right yet questions it at the same time with such a grand demand."

"It's…surely not that simple Lord Stannis." Sansa softly muttered nervously.

"Is it? I am the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms. The North is part of it. Thus its people have an obligation towards Westeros still. Lord Robb's talk of separation can be seen as an act of treason with a civil war looming over us."

The word treason hung heavily in the air for everyone, though Arya despite her nervousness suddenly spoke up. "Are you saying you'll fight my brother then…over some…petty rule!?"

Sansa gasped in shock at her sister's rude remark, eyes wide eyed in fear now. Thoros, Beric and Davos paled as even they would never speak out towards Stannis in such a way.

Stannis stared back at Arya, the girl trembling a bit though it was hard to tell if it was fear or anger…maybe a mix of both. "I will forgive your rudeness because you are so young. There is much you don't understand young Stark." Stannis sternly stated. "Those who refuse to bend the knee will be considered a threat and thus destroyed if need be."

"If it wasn't for my father…" Arya growled, seeming ready to argue back.

"Arya." The young Stark snapped to attention, looking at the Witcher quickly. One look at him made her realize she was going too far. Biting her lower lip, she'd become silent, though frustration showed fiercely in her eyes. Geralt looked towards Stannis now, both stern gazes meeting right then. "Forgive me Lord Stannis but I must agree with Arya. Acting so rashly is a poor choice."

"It is not wise to speak so judgingly Witcher." Stannis warned.

"I'm stating the obvious like I did a month ago when we first met." The Witcher countered, his gaze drifting over the table. He knew everyone didn't favor Stannis's aggressive attitude, yet most were too fearful or conflicted to argue back. "If you plan to be King you best be more open minded than this, otherwise you'll no better than Joffrey."

The comparison had a low growl escape from the Baratheon. "Comparing me to that brat…a bastard born…" However, he'd stop when Melisandre placed a hand on his shoulder before whispering to him. For a moment the two quietly talked, yet whatever was shared seemed to calm Stannis down. Giving a sigh, he'd nod before glancing back at the group. "My temper does get the better of me. Very well Geralt, you and everyone may try to convince me on how to approach this matter. I expect though a logical argument from all of you."

"As you wish." Geralt glanced to Davos, a silent sign for the sea captain to speak up.

Nodding, the gruff man spoke up. "I understand your reaction to Lord Robb's message, yet your too quick to judge his proposal. Northern independence wasn't a demand, yet an opening offer…if a quite bold one."

"Asking for control of a whole kingdom is excessive I say." Stannis muttered sternly back.

"Which is why you may convince him and the other Lords to accept a different offer. By becoming King you can simply reward them with positions, lesser taxes and other rights in exchange." Geralt calmly stated. "Unless Renly has changed his mind to support you, you lack the numbers to take King's Landing."

The mention of his brother had Stannis clench one fist in annoyance. "He has remained stubborn in following his 'claim'. His alliance with the Tyrells will grant him the vast armies of the Reach, which if combined with all of the Stormlands be close to a hundred thousand. If he has that number, it double that of the expected Lannister forces."

Geralt paused in thought hearing those numbers, admitting such a large army would give Renly a huge advantage. "So first off, how many men do you have on your side already?"

"Not counting the sailors and ship support, twenty thousand men, five hundred being my personal force. Lord Eddard's message has drawn support, yet many ignore my right because of my reputation. Even if I get a majority of the Storm Lords on my side over time, Renly will have close to a hundred thousand from his alliance with the Tyrells and the Reach."

"True, yet wars aren't wholly decided by who has the bigger army." Geralt stated. He knew that very well since the Northern Kingdoms had beaten back the Nilfgaard army, though barely. In the end, the difficulty and losses the Empire faced had them turn back, yet that didn't stop Emhyr's ambitions. He simply changed his strategy to weakening the already divided Kingdoms, eliminating the sorceresses and other discrete acts of sabotage. While Radavid had been able to keep the Empire back, his mad ambition brought the end of him…an end the Witcher had a part in. "Point is you don't need a massive army like your brother, only an effective one that can capture and hold King's Landing."

Stannis was silent for a long moment in thought before speaking. "It is the most direct approach and quickest means to ending the war, especially if I can capture a majority of the Lannister family."

"Time is your real enemy right now, reason why you should work alongside Robb. If you can get even a fourth of his forces, along side whatever numbers his Riverland allies can offer, you'd have enough to siege King's Landing with your fleet while the Lannister's forces are spread thin." Davos quickly stated.

"The captain has a fair point." Lord Beric added. "If we can make a speedy alliance with the North and Riverlands, it will surely catch the Lannisters and their allies off guard. It may even lead to avoiding warring with Lord Renly if you gain enough support with the other Kingdoms."

Stannis remained silent as he listened to everyone, yet his gaze did drift to Melisandre. Geralt knew the man seemed to favor her advice the most, so he worried she could easily overturn all the arguments the group had just shared. "You may have the strength and will to be the Lord of Light's champion, yet you must show the people more then that." She'd place a gentle hand on his arm and give a soft smile. "Sway the hearts and minds of the North. In turn the other Lords throughout the Kingdoms will follow suit and even your brother with his foolish ambitions wouldn't risk challenging you."

Her response drew a few surprised and curious looks among the group, most seeming to have expected her to encourage a more aggressive approach. Still, she found a way to twist her faith and Stannis's pride into her response. The stern lord was silent again as he'd look between her and then the rest of the group, his sharp gaze settling on Sansa and Arya. "Both of you know your brother better than any one else. Would he strive for peace with me even if I didn't agree to the terms he has shared?"

"Of course! Robb may care for the North, yet he'd never desire to start a pointless fight!" Arya remarked back, her tone a bit sharp, yet not as rude as her earlier outburst.

"Robb is very much like…our father." Sansa added. "He doesn't question your claim and if I must speak freely my Lord…he has a point. The North has suffered so much loss within a generation. If…independence is too much, then at least be involved in our grievances like a true king." The girl's eyes were pleading and for a moment Stannis's blank expression softened slightly.

He'd give a small sigh and nod. "Then I will trust in your words Lady Sansa and Arya." Glancing to Davos, the sea captain quickly had an alert look on his worn face. "How long would it take to prepare the Fury for the journey to White Harbor? I want our best crewmen, knights and bannermen to travel northward with us."

"You mean taking the flagship war galley? Well…We can get it ready within the week at least. Two days I take. Yet would it be wise to take a war ship to a negotiation?"

"The North respects strength does it not? They have no doubt been fed rumors that I lack any means to fight in this war, so I will prove otherwise. I will show them one of the strongest ships Westeros has seen yet along our finest soldiers."

"As you wish my your Grace." Davos answered respectfully back.

Nodding, Stannis then looked over to the rest of the group. "I will have a raven sent today for Winterfell. If there are no issues with traveling, we will both meet at White Harbor within the same time. For now, everyone is dismissed…except for Ser Geralt."

A few curious looks showed between a few of the gathered, yet everyone nodded respectfully before getting up to begin filing out of the map room. Sansa and Arya did look to the Witcher before leaving their seats, seeming a bit confused on why Stannis wanted to talk to him. "Both of you should go to bed early today." Geralt calmly stated. "Arya, it seems training will be put on hold for a few days. We'll do some simple exercises on the boat though. A few days of peace and rest will be good for you anyway."

She'd nod before Sansa gently tugged at her arm to have her follow her out of the room. When Geralt shifted his attention back to Stannis, Melisandre had just finished whispering something to him before she'd walk past the Witcher. Those red eyes of hers had a sly look of confidence that showed this meeting had ended on her terms in the end. Once she left, Geralt relaxed slightly before he'd stand up from his seat.

"Excuse me sire. Think I've had enough sitting around for the moment."

Stannis only shrugged, seeming not to care as he'd watch the Witcher pace around the table, eyeing the pieces that represented the differing factions spread across Westeros. "For someone who claims to avoid politics, you seem to know a fair deal about it." He remarked.

"Picked up a lot over the years. A lot of nobles and kings like dragging me into their games." Geralt muttered back. "Yet I take you didn't keep me here to ask about such matters."

"True…I guess you can say it's a personal matter relating to my family." Stannis paused as he'd stare at the map table. "Its about my daughter Shireen. I'm sure you heard about the sickness she caught when she was young."

"Greyscale from what I know. A quite terrible disease that's unlike anything from where I come from. If you expect me to check on her health, then I'd like to know how she was treated."

"That is where things become complicated. The…individual who cured her is someone I wouldn't want to discuss."

"Doesn't really help me if your keeping secrets, much less one as old as this." Geralt calmly argued.

Stannis didn't answer for long moment before sighing. "I'm not sure if you heard whispers of him at the Red Keep, but the man who treated my daughter was Zarin, a rogue master alchemist from the guild."

A curious hint showed across the Witcher's face. "Can say I've heard of him from Varys. The spymaster thinks he was the leader of the assassination group during Robert's hunt. He nearly got me with a bomb even."

"Heh, then you're lucky. Can't say I know of anyone who's crossed the man and lived." Stannis remarked. "In any case he heard of Shireen's plight and smuggled himself onto Dragonstone before surrendering to me."

"If I'm correct, he would have been in hiding for at least eight years already. Seems odd he'd reveal himself despite already being so elusive."

"You'd be correct and have questioned He claimed he had a means to cure her…experimental and untested from what he said. The man was blunt on the fact the treatment was risky, yet at that point I was desperate."

"So what did he ask in return?"

"Safe passage to Essos and for me to not speak of his existence. Many thought he was dead by this time, so it made sense that he didn't wish renewed attention onto himself."

"Wonder why he wanted to go there so suddenly, much less with you helping him instead of some other means. Man of his talents and influence could surely have found a simpler and more secretive approach." Geralt remarked. "If anything I'm surprised you agreed to his offer. From everything I know of you, you're a man who follows a stern view on law and justice." Davos was a clear example on that fact, having lost the first joints his fingers for his past crimes of smuggling.

Stannis didn't answer at first, his calm gaze glancing down at the map table before looking back at the Witcher. "I know you have a daughter yourself, adopted as well. If her life was at risk, would you go to any lengths to save her…even it was against your own morals?"

Geralt was ready to speak at first yet stopped himself. He had risked his life countless times searching and protecting Ciri, but there hadn't been a situation where he or his companions were powerless to aid her. Already he could imagine Gaunter looming behind him, that sly grin on his face as he'd give possibly the one offer Geralt couldn't refuse.

"I don't know."

The unsure answer seemed to surprise Stannis, considering the Witcher had always had a set answer to any subject. However he didn't press Geralt for a clearer answer. "I accepted his offer, though if he failed to stop the infection or killed her, he would be executed hastily. I'd thought it be impossible even for him…yet he seemed certain he would succeed…" It seemed even after thirteen years the memory of his encounter with the alchemist was a quite memorable one. "Whatever he did worked, and he remained for a few weeks to make sure the Greyscale didn't spread somehow. In a way Zarin seemed concerned for my daughter…or perhaps simply focused on the results of his treatment."

"In the end you kept to your side of the deal."

"I honor my promises, though I swore if I ever saw him again he would face the King's justice. Besides, I'm sure Zarin was prepared if I tried to betray him. The man was renown of always being three steps ahead of others, be it friends and foes." Pausing, he'd continue to speak. "I trust you will keep this to yourself?"

Geralt nodded. "You have my word." Glancing to the doorway, he felt he discussed enough with Stannis. "If there is nothing else I'd like to take my leave. I'll be sure to see Shireen tomorrow."

"Good." With that simple remark, Stannis stood up from his seat to pace over to the balcony, seeming distracted with his thoughts.

Geralt walked out of the room, still unsure what to make of the stern Lord. "Wonder what King you plan to be…" He muttered to himself. Considering his personal record of rulers so far, he was doubtful for a positive outcome. He'd begin the long walk through Dragonstone for his room, deciding to study and relax for the rest of the day.

…

 **Gendry – Nightfall**

The young man held up his torch to help him check the simple map he had been working on for the past month exploring the vast depths of Dragonstone. It had been tricky finding enough time to search the past maze of tunnels, caves and even ruins that stretched across the island, much less without being noticed. He had been able to secure basic tools and supplies to do his exploration which were dedicated on days he was given off or during the late-night hours.

"Guess when you own dragons you need a big cave for them to live in..." Gendry muttered to himself, passing through one of the largest chambers he had discovered. It was a massive natural rock cavern which he guessed had been used to house the dragons for centuries. Whatever larger tunnels the beasts had used had long been closed off be it by natural means or human hands. From what he had scouted out this chamber was central to the overall layout of Dragonstone's underground maze. He had found empty storerooms, a ruined barracks and dismantled workshops dedicated to unknown crafts. Any clues to how Valyrian steel had been forged here in the past was long gone, making him worry his searching would be pointless.

' _Wonder how much my uncle knows about this place and if he plans to do anything with it.'_ Right now he'd explored much of the northern half of the underground, which seemed to be the oldest section from what he could tell. Slipping through a narrow passage, he'd start going down a downward slopping passage, being careful to brace one hand along the nearby wall to avoid slipping. "Gods…how deep does this go?" He muttered to himself just before seeing the slope come to an end. Moving forward, he'd pause for a moment as he could hear a low rumbling at times through the stone walls.

' _Must be lower down by the water. Hope I don't stumble into some tide cave and get washed away.'_ Gendry thought to himself before continuing forward. He'd feel his boot crunch down onto something, the sound like glass in fact. Glancing down, he'd see he had stepped onto black shard that gleamed in the torch light. _'More dragonglass…though master always preferred to call it obsidian.'_ He'd roll the sharp piece in his hand, thinking back to his master's lessons about this uncommon material. He knew the island was a literal mountain of this stuff, though he wasn't sure if the volcanic mineral got its name from heat that formed it or by the dragons who nested on the island.

Tossing the piece aside when he realized he was becoming distracted, he'd move further down the passage which started to narrow out. Soon the space was so thin that he'd have to turn sideways and shimmy just to continue forward. He'd hesitate at this point, unsure if the passage lead anywhere or could possibly be impassible farther in. "Well…nothing ventured…nothing gained." Gendry sighed to himself. Shifting sideways, he'd began to shuffle forward to slip through the tight space. He'd take a deep breath just to slim up a bit more to get by. For a moment claustrophobia started to creep in as the closing space was making it hard to see and move. His heart raced as he'd struggle for a moment at the tightest spot, fearing he was stuck. Yet with a grunt, he'd force through and nearly stumble out to the other end. "Shit…that was close…" He cursed out as he'd dust off his clothes a bit before holding his torch up to glance about this new area.

The ground had sand hinting about, perhaps from the tide or left over from the past when this cavern had formed. While the air was damp and salty, there wasn't any sign of sea having flowed into here. Looking about, he realized it was a tunnel that stretched about, maybe even flowing from one side of the island to the other. _'Can't be anything related to the Targaryens here.'_ Already Gendry was worried that his efforts be fruitless or perhaps he had overlooked something in the other chambers. However, his ears picked up an odd whistling that was similar to wind or a low wailing really.

"Don't start thinking that." Gendry muttered, not wanting to let superstition get the better of him now. The sound was coming northward which he began to follow. Looking about the natural tunnel, he noted odd markings around the black rock, carvings that had an aged tanned coloring to it that made out symmetrical shapes. He'd stop to touch over one of the symbols, tracing along the design before swaying the torch light about to show even more markings. "What in the hells is this? Did someone…live down here?" As he reached the end of the tunnel, it led into a large cavern that had a flat wall which depicted a massive spiral marking with smaller ones set all around. A bit of faint light just showed from above from a crack in the ceiling, letting moonlight shine in.

'It's like it's trying to tell a story.' Admittedly while Mott had taught him how to read and basics on history, what he was seeing was beyond anything he knew. The first set of carvings showed child like figures standing among sticks and swirled patterns…like a forest of some kind. It then showed some squiggly lines that seemed to drift downwards, maybe representing weather or wind? It then showed the child like figures hands out stretched over their heads seemingly holding up a circle, yet this one was filled in with pure white paint of some kind. The carvings and cave paintings went on depicted many more scenes, no doubt the entire history of this strange group of small tribals. Yet as he looked to the far right, he'd gasp and flinch back as he saw a frighteningly detailed image along the wall. His surprise made him trip over a rock, tumbling backward and falling onto his rear roughly.

Before him was the most detailed cave painting he had seen and the most disturbing one. It depicted a tall pale figure with a gaunt face with a circle of short horns that formed into a crown like pattern. What really shook the young man though where the eyes which were sky blue crystals. Along side the horned creature were similar ones who where then flanked with what could be only described as living corpses. With the whistling howl of the wind coming from the crack above making it seem like the images were alive, he'd shiver as he'd quickly grab his dropped torch as he'd stumble back up onto his feet.

Gendry gradually calmed down from his startled state, though avoided looking too directly at the ghastly drawings. This cave was a surprising twist to his exploration, but also a disturbing one at the same time. "This is older then the Targaryens…far older." He muttered to himself. Right now he wasn't sure what to make of this strange discovery since he lacked any knowledge of past cultures and ancient history. 'Maybe Stannis' Maester or his apprentice would know…' However he'd shake his head as he realized he was becoming distracted from his true goal. Once he finished the task his master had given him, he could then focus on learning who made these drawings and what story they told.

'I must be overlooking something back in the smithy? He had assumed there was simply another place that the valyrian steel was being smelted in, but perhaps the main workshop was where it all took place. It had been ages since they had crafted such weapons, so they most likely modified the smelters ages ago. It be tricky examining the great forges more closely with them being under near constant use and with so many prying eyes on him. He'd have to wait for the right moment when the workshop was mostly clear to search around without drawing attention.

Giving a final glance at the cave painting, he'd hesitate at the chilling final image before backing away. This cave in general was making him nervous, even more since his torch was dimming after burning for so long. He wasn't sure how long exactly he had roamed around in these caves, but he knew it was very late into the night by now. If he got caught sneaking back into his room, he was certain he'd get into trouble. Turning about, he'd hurry back to the narrow passage and squeeze through it before taking the long trek back up into more familiar corridors of the Keep.

He'd carefully make his way back to his room yet rounding the corner he'd quickly shuffle back when he saw someone at his door. His quick retreat had made his boots skid across the floor, enough to draw attention to him. Silently cursing to himself, he'd peek around the corner to see…a woman dressed in red? He remembered seeing her when they arrived and often with Stannis around the Keep. All he knew was she was a priestess to some strange faith across the sea that worshipped fire, or a being related to it.

"No need to hide from me. You're not in trouble if that is why you're worried about." The Red Priestess spoke softly to him, even giving a small kind smile.

Gendry was on guard as he'd step out of hiding and approach her. "I know there is a curfew for most of the servants and craftsmen but…just needed to get out for a bit."

"Hmm…a restless mind is a troubling thing." The Priestess murmured as she stepped closer, letting Gendry catch the alluring scent of fine oils and herbs she had.

"I…umm…forgive me for prying, but what brings you to these parts of the Keep at this hour."

"Much like you my own thoughts keep me up at night, be it interpreting the visions of the Lord of Light or the plans for Lord Stannis's war for the Iron Throne."

"I see…yet what do your wanderings bring you to my room? Uh…your Grace." He questioned, though quickly did his best to be formal to not sound rude.

"Such titles are unneeded with me. I will confess you are a curiosity to me since my visions have often shown you having a role to play in future events."

"There's nothing special about me. Just one of countless orphans from Flee Bottom who was just lucky to be good at a forge."

Melisandre softly grinned at Gendry as she'd pace closer, the young man shifting a bit nervously as she got so close. "It is the heritage of your father that makes you special, the blood of a warrior and nobility." She calmly stated. "Yet you fear and hate that past…trying to deny it because of what your father did." Her left hand moved to suddenly caress his face, her touch soft and having a soothing warmth to it.

Her words surprised him, making him wonder if she knew who exactly his father was or simply guessing to draw a reaction from him. Though despite her gentle voice and kind touch, he felt frustration at how she spoke about his late father…about how everyone seemed to believe Robert had cared for him. "You wouldn't understand…" He muttered back, holding back a spiteful tone as he moved away from her touch.

Despite his harsh reaction Melisandre kept that calm look on her face as if she had expected him to snap back like that. "It is you who doesn't understand young Gendry." She'd slip past him to head down the corridor, seeming ready to leave him now. "In time you will understand your purpose in events to come…yet if you ever need guidance I will gladly help." With those final words she'd turn around the corner of the corridor and disappear from sight.

Gendry was flustered after that encountered because of the Priestess's seductive charm and surprising knowledge about him. He didn't believe the claim that she had visions, yet her eyes had such certainty to them when she made the claim. Opening the door to his room, he'd drop aside his small pack and change out of his dusty clothes for the rest of the night. Falling back onto the simple bed he had, he'd give a tired sigh as he tried to think over what to do after the recent discoveries in the tunnels.

He knew how everyone was making plans to travel for the North for a possible alliance, yet so far Geralt hadn't spoken to him about it. In a way, he'd be safer here if Stannis and his Red Priestess were on the other side of the Kingdom's. Plus during that time there be less activity through Dragonstone, hopefully giving him a chance to better examine the forges.

"Simple enough…yet what do I do afterwards?" He muttered to himself, his mind still conflicted over the Priestess's words. Even if he did figure out the final clues about Valyrian steel, he had no way to share it with his master since going back to King's Landing be a death sentence. That was of course if Mott hadn't fled the city considering his involvement in helping Geralt. "Ugh…why does this have to become so complicated…" Burying his face to the worn pillow he had, he'd slowly fall asleep as the long day work and exploring got to him, though his dreams were restless…dreams of looming winter and soulless blue eyes.

 **Geralt - The Next Day - Midday**

The Witcher's morning had been a quiet one as he waited for lunch time and for his planned visit with Shireen. Picking his usual set of plain clothes, he'd also decide to leave behind any of his swords, included Dragon Fang. While he was sure she was curious about the drifting stories of his fighting prowess, he felt Stannis wouldn't approve of him having weapons around his daughter. He didn't know much about her personal interests, so he hoped this meeting wouldn't become too awkward. The only other thing he brought where some basic medical tools Stannis's Maester had lend over since he had a few basic tests that he wanted to confirm about Greyscale.

As he was leaving his room though, he'd see Davos heading down the hallway and heading toward him. "Ah good! Was worried you were already heading off." The sea captain remarked.

"Had something you wanted to talk about? We didn't have a chance to chat after yesterday's meeting."

"That is true and there are a few things I want to discuss, though I was planning to tag along to see Shireen with you." Gesturing back down the hall, he'd begin to lead the Witcher through the massive keep and to the upper levels.

"I do remember a few servants remarking that you often visit her, sharing stories and gifts from your voyages."

"Aye. Beyond her books and the odd trip down to the gardens, she knows nothing of the world beyond this island. Between her condition and her father's protective nature, I doubt she'll travel unless it's absolutely needed."

Geralt nodded. "Maybe that will change one day."

"Perhaps…hopefully when this senseless war is over." Davos sighed. "I don't like how we had put such effort in convincing his Grace to meet with Lord Robb. I'm worried his sense of…right to rule is clouding his judgement."

"He does have stubborn sense of pride. Not uncommon considering past lords and rulers I've met…usually it didn't end well for most of them." Already he was remembering his final encounter with King Henselt, the man unyielding even when Vernon Roach sunk a dagger into his heart. The man saw his royal heritage as his right to conquer and to justify even raping any woman he desired, Ves being one of the unfortunate ones targeted by his lust. While Stannis obviously didn't share all the same interests as the dead Kaedwen king, his set nature would bring a lot of senseless death and a harsh end to himself.

"What worries me is how much sway Melisandre has with him." Davos grumbled. "It seemed like whatever she whispered and said were key in his final choices."

"Then we'll need to make sure her advice doesn't end poorly for him…or everyone else."

Davos would nod in agreement as they'd head up a winding stairway, reaching one of the higher towers of Dragonstone and Shireen' room. "We can worry about politics once we're in White Harbor. Stannis will no doubt be more understanding when he personally meets Lord Robb." Shrugging, he'd then continue to speak. "Anyway, we're here."

They arrived to a small floor where a lone guard was standing watch, the man having a bored look considering he was confined to such an isolated space. When he saw the two men approach, he snapped to attention and gave a respectful nod. "Ser Geralt and Davos. Stannis informed me you'd be visiting Witcher, though not you Lord Seaworth."

"Heh, thought I'd tag along to see Lady Shireen as well and help introduce the Witcher to her." The sea captain answered back. "I hope this isn't a problem considering your orders."

The guard thought for a moment and shrug. "I see no issue." Turning to the door, he'd knock at it before speaking. "Lady Shireen, your guests have arrived." He'd unlock the door before opening it, letting both men walk into the room.

The young Baratheon had quite large quarters to herself, even though the rocky walls made it feel confining. At the least there was good lighting here thanks to the windows set at each side of the room, which offered the girl a Melisandre wide view of every side of Dragonstone. The room was well furnished having a large comfortable bed set in one corner, a small library set in another and lastly a desk surrounded by all sorts of trinkets and drawings. There were all kinds of toys set around with the most notable item being a brass telescope set at the western window. Geralt remembered the item being mentioned and it showed how the girl had been watching him training Arya.

"Its good to see you again Davos!" A young voice spoke up, quickly drawing the Witcher's attention to the young girl who had been sitting at the bed reading a book. "Oh and it's an honor to meet you Ser Geralt…I've…heard so much about you!" She quickly added, giving a short curtsy in respect to him.

She seemed to be Arya's age considering her height, though a bit thinner with her figure under the plain green dress she wore. She had deep brown hair tied back, leaving most of her face exposed to them except for a few loose strands. A short hint of surprise showed in the Witcher's eyes as he at last see his first physical example of Greyscale. While he had read descriptions and seen detailed drawings of the sickness, it was quite shocking to see in person. Along the left side of the girl's face stretching from her brow, cheek and jaw her skin was covered in a mix of grey crusted skin. Despite how the deadened skin made her cheek and jaw sag in a disfiguring manner, the girl had a bright look in her blue eyes and a cheerful grin hinting her lips.

"As have I Lady Shireen. I'm sorry I haven't come to see you sooner." Geralt formally replied, bowing his head slightly in respect.

The girl nodded as she'd step closer, getting a closer look at the Witcher's features. Her gaze drifted over his pale skin and up to his scarred face, a hint of wonder showing when she saw his cat like eyes. "You do have the eyes of a cat like Ser Davos said" She remarked excitedly. "He's told me many stories about you, like the battle against the Mountain and Kingslayer!"

Geralt glanced at the captain, who'd chuckle a bit before patting the Witcher on the shoulder. "She begged to know of your accomplishments. If there is one thing she loves it is a good story."

Shireen nodded eagerly at the statement. "Its true! I've read through so many of my books…so it gets dull reading the same tales. I heard you came from a far-off land…so you must have much to share about that!"

Her joyful curiosity was welcoming, reminding him of his first-time meeting Arya. "I do, though stories will have to wait. Your father did ask of me to examine your condition first." He politely remarked.

The girl drifted one hand up to touch her scarred cheek, her gaze having a more worried look. "It…I understand." She seemed shy about the matter as she'd move to a nearby chair to sit down. "You're not worried about it are you? Most people get nervous when they see my face."

The Witcher approached her and stood at her left side, pulling up a chair for himself. "Even if you were still sick I won't have to worry. Having run into a disease or sickness that could spread onto me." He explained, though that drew a confused look from Shireen. "As for the scars…well…" He'd tap the of his head to notable scar that streaked across his brow and down over one eye.

The comparison had the girl giggle a bit, making her relax as he was doing his best to relate with her. "How did you get that big scar Ser Geralt?"

For a moment he paused as he thought over her question. "Oddly I'm not sure, though think I got it during a time I…lost my memory." He thought it be best to exclude the Wild Hunt since involving dimensional traveling elves in fearsome armor was bit beyond belief. "Really I've lost track of how many scars and wounds I've gotten over time."

"So can you tell me how it's been growing up with this scar? Any discomfort at any time?"

"I've never had any pain or itching if that's what you mean." She replied back. "Cressen always gave me a cream for the scar since it can…well…flake if it gets too dry. It doesn't hurt but they worry it could get me sick."

The Witcher nodded. "Makes sense." He'd lean in as he'd have one hand touch across her scale like cheek delicately. The skin was indeed quite scale like where the skin had cracked and over time healed which also gave it a rocky texture similar to troll hide, though obviously not nearly as tough. "The skin is calcified from what I can tell. Only seen a few things that could do this." He muttered, mainly to himself. Considering only a few monsters and talented mages could do this from his world, making him wonder if this sickness had some magical origin in the distant past. "So do you feel anything?"

Shireen shook her head, seeming unflinching even when he lightly prodded at her scarred cheek. "Nothing."

"Matches what the books says. When Greyscale fully affects an area, you slowly lose your sense of feeling until there is nothing left." He muttered. "Can't imagine how it is with those fully infected."

"The Stonemen, a terrible fate I say. I don't know why they simply show mercy and end their lives instead of shipping them off to the Sorrows to go mad from their infliction." Davos muttered before realizing this was a grim topic for the girl to hear. "Ah sorry my lady. We shouldn't worry you on such matters."

Shireen though softly smiled back. "Its fine Davos." Still there was a sadness in her eyes, perhaps feeling pity for countless people who suffered from her affliction, yet not fortunate to be cured like her. Though even if they were spared the deadly or maddening fate the sickness brought, they'd be shunned because of their scars much like her. In the end anyone with Greyscale didn't have a good future for themselves.

Geralt didn't remark for the moment as he'd finish up his examination. Focusing more along the edges of the scaled scarring, he could see how it thinned out into a thinner pattern. "Can you feel around here?" He said feeling across the part where the 'scales' and normal skin was at, which made the girl flinch a bit feeling her rougher skin.

"Yes…though only a little." She answered back.

Nodding, the Witcher moved his hand away from her scarred cheek. "That is a good sign. I don't think the scarring has spread since it was treated, yet you should continue to use the creams and making sure to examine around the 'scales'. So long as you can feel where the skin and scarring meets, then everything should be fine."

The positive news helped the young girl relax a bit, perhaps expecting a more worrying outcome. "Since that is done…can you share a few stories with me?" She quickly asked in an excited tone. "I know your going after tomorrow and I'm not sure I'll have a chance to meet you again."

"She has a fair point. No telling if you'll remain in the North or come back south. Guess it will matter how the negotiations play out." Davos commented.

"True…very well I guess I can share a few stories for the rest of the day." Geralt replied after a moment of thought. "So what kind of tales interest you?"

Shireen though for a moment before an idea quickly came to her. "Do they have dragons where you come from?"

"We did have them, though they aren't the same as the ones the Valyrians had. They were very intelligent, as smart as any human really and have quite the desire for wealth and places of magical importance."

"So they had lairs full of treasure! I remember one tale that said Balerion had a massive cavern full of Targaryen riches, guarding it whenever they weren't conquering."

"Doubt they were any caves big enough to house such a beast. If you saw his skull under the Red Keep you'd understand just how massive that dragon was." Davos remarked.

The sea captain had a point since even the Witcher had taken a chance visit to the vast cellars during his stay at the Keep. He wanted to get some idea on how the dragons of this world were and he was certain Balerion outmatched Villentretenmerth in physical scale. Still, he was certain the old golden dragon could outmatch the Targaryen's dragon because of his greater intelligence and many magical gifts. None the less, Balerion would have been the bane of all of the Northern Kingdoms and possibly Nilfgaard if the beast was loose across the continent.

"So what happened to them? You said you 'did' have dragons, so what happened to them?" Shireen questioned.

Geralt took a moment to figure out how to best explain without delving too much about how magic had been key to killing off the great beasts. "Simply, we killed them off. Was long before my time, though the books claim it was to protect humanity as it struggled to settle in a harsh new world. In a way that is true, but I'm certain it became more about greed in the end." He explained. "It took a long time and a lot of effort, but one by one they were hunted. Was around that time they made people like me…first Witchers."

"You mean…is that why you have those eyes, white hair and look so pale?"

He'd simply nod back. "That would be another long story for another time. Anyway, there are still dragons just they were smart enough to go far away from us or to hide just out of sight." Pausing, he had a good idea on how to turn the gloomy tale into something more exciting for the young girl. "I did however meet two dragons though, special ones who could talk and turn into a human in fact."

"That has to be made up!" Shireen giggled.

"Even I have to agree despite all the other stories you've shared so far." Davos added, though he had a curious look in his eyes.

"Surprised your doubtful for once." Geralt chuckled. "Anyway his name was…well…let's just say dragon names are quite long and tricky to pronounce. In his human guise though, he was known as the wandering knight Borch Jackjaw."

….

The hours passed by as Geralt shared the full story of his encounter with the wise golden dragon and the adventure to save his mate and future daughter. He'd continue the tale about Saskia who followed her father's ideals on unity and peace among all the races and social norms. The grand story of her struggle to form a free kingdom while dealing with the greedy ambitions of King Henselt, multiple assassination attempts, and a battlefield cursed with restless spirits. The tales went on for so long that the trio had lunch in the tower, Shireen simply wanting to hear more and more as the Witcher shared his grand adventures.

By sunset, Davos had drifted asleep as the old lord seemed weary after so much talking and listening. Geralt and Shireen could talk privately, though for the moment the girl was showing the Witcher her telescope. She'd gaze up at the darkening sky, eager to see the stars that would soon be revealed. "Just a bit longer…" She muttered to herself while Geralt watched her fiddle with the telescope.

"So how did your father get this?"

"From Old Town where all the Maesters come from. Its one of the only places they make these." She quickly explained. "They have telescopes in your lands, right?'

He'd nod. "In Nilfgaard they have an observatory which is a massive room that houses a massive telescope that can see farther into the night sky. The scholars claim it lets them predict events or so they claim."

"I'd love to see that. Everything about your countries sounds so wonderful…even with all the bad things there as well."

"Perhaps one day, though I think you should see the rest of the Seven Kingdoms first."

She nodded, though a unsure hint showed in her eyes before she glanced back into the telescope. "I want to go out and see but…I think father wouldn't allow it."

"Why is that? Greyscale scar or not, you can't live your whole life stuck on Dragonstone."

"I know and your right just…I think father would be ashamed if the world saw me like this." She'd be silent, though Geralt heard her giving a shaky breath. "A disfigured and unwanted daughter."

"Is that what your mother calls you?" Geralt questioned, making a small gasp escape from Shireen before she glanced away. "I've heard about how harsh she can be yet didn't expect she'd abuse you."

"She…she just says cruel things at times but has never tried to harm me. Ever since that woman in red came years ago she has become hateful."

"Not sure what drive a woman to be like that to their own child." Then again, he had seen plenty of terrible outcomes among families when he thought of his past travels. "The truth is your father cares deeply about you and would do anything to keep you safe."

"It doesn't feel that way at times…"

Geralt put a hand on her shoulder, making her look up at him. "Trust me, when it comes to people your father is always blunt and short spoken with them. Guess that extends to you too."

Shireen couldn't help but smile faintly. "He is terrible at conversations." She murmured with a small giggle.

"I understand that you want him to show affection…yet simply waiting won't work with him."

However, before Shireen could answer back there'd be a knock at the door. The noise snapped Davos awake, who muttered out something before realizing how he had dozed off. "Ugh…must be the guard wondering why we're still here at this hour." He remarked as he got up to open the door to quietly speak with the guard.

"He has a point. We've spent nearly half the day talking." Geralt remarked as he'd get up from his seat.

Shireen nodded, seeming a bit lost in thought of the Witcher's last words. "Do we have to say goodbye right now?" She asked.

"Only if you want it to be." Geralt answered back. "We leave tomorrow in the late morning. No better moment to see everyone before we set sail." By now Davos had finished talking with the guard and nodded to guard, showing it was time for them to go. "Remember what I said about your father and consider it for tomorrow." With that said, he'd turn to leave the room with Davos.

For a moment Shireen seemed ready to question him on what he meant yet hesitated too long as the door closed behind Geralt and Davos. The two began their long walk back to the lower floors of Dragonstone, though Davos spoke up when they were out of earshot of any guards. "I'm confused on the advice you gave young Shireen just before we left. Admittedly I only heard a few words, but it seems you were encouraging her to do something."

"Simply trying to help a divided father and daughter bond that's all." Geralt bluntly answered.

Davos gave an odd look, noting the Witcher's passive expression. "She's not the first noble lass you've seen with a distant parent like Stannis."

Geralt only nodded back as they continued walking along, seeming to try and avoid giving a full answer.

"Witcher, you know you can trust me with this. I won't tell Stannis if that is what you're worried about."

There be a long pause before the sea captain got a reply. "I think Shireen is the best way for us to get through Stannis' stubborn pride and ambition. Even though he seems to seclude himself from everyone else, he deeply cares for his daughter."

Already Davos had a thoughtful look on his face, a hint of realization showing in his eyes. "Though how do you plan to draw on such feelings from the man?"

"We'll see tomorrow if Shireen has the courage to follow what she wants." With that said, the Witcher said nothing more on the matter as they at last reached the floor Geralt's room was at. "Anyway, see you at the docks in the morning."

It was a hasty goodbye that left Davos a bit baffled as the Witcher entered his room, though the common born lord didn't try to argue for more details. Sighing, he'd turn away to head to his own room for the night. "Another gambit it seems…pray it works like the others…" He muttered as he'd leave the hall.

 **The Next Day – Late Morning**

Geralt had gotten up early to make sure all his packs were in order for the trip ahead. He had taken some time last night and this morning to top off on his usual potions and bombs, just to be prepared for any trouble at sea. They may be traveling on a war ship, but there was always the chance of a fight breaking out on sea. For all they knew the Lannisters could have put a bounty out to get pirates and mercenaries to harass any of Stannis' or Renly's ships.

When he arrived at the docks, he'd see Davos already there directing the workers and sailors to get the last preparations on board. He'd quickly finish giving a few orders before looking towards the Witcher, giving a short nod to him.

"Everything is in order I take?"

"Aye. The Fury is fully stocked for crew and guests, along with being battle ready if need be. We'll be sticking to the coast for most of the journey north, so I doubt we'll run into any dangers beyond natural ones."

"Lucky we have the best captain to guide the way." Geralt chuckled, making a small grin of pride show on Davos face. "Still, I know war ships like this don't offer much for comfort beyond the main cabins, so where will the girls be staying?"

"We cleared out one of the smaller storerooms for the two. Not much space, but private and away from the main sleeping space. Won't be a royal voyage, yet this trip is more for their safety after all."

Geralt nodded in agreement as they'd stroll closer to the ship. Compared to the variety of ships he had seen between Nilfgaard, the Northern Kingdoms and Skellige it was an impressive vessel. It had three decks and had openings along its side which were meant for long oars to allow the ship quick bursts of speed and maneuvering. Across the deck were scorpion launchers, compact ballista that could be manned by two or even one person with proper skill. At the fore and aft were small catapults, perfect for attacking at long and medium range. Lastly was a bronze colored stag figurehead, which no doubt doubled as a battering ram, a deadly if stylish final weapon.

"Quite the ship, though I can tell it's not newly built."

"You'd be correct. The Fury was manned by Stannis back in the Greyjoy Rebellion, yet ever since he became the Master of Ships he saw fit to maintain and upgrade it. The Greyjoys may boast of their sea prowess, but The Fury sank their own flagship in quite the battle."

As they chatted, Geralt glanced backwards to see more people coming down the long trail from Dragonstone Keep. It seemed most who would be traveling north had decided to leave together in one group. Arya, Sansa and all of his companions from King's Landing marched to the docks, everyone seeming active for the trip ahead of them. Geralt didn't bother to chat with everyone, only sharing a few greetings as everyone began to board the ship. However, trialing just behind the group was Gendry, who wasn't carrying his pack and dressed for working at the forge. Curious, the Witcher approached him.

"Decided not to come with us?" He simply asked.

"Last I checked you said it was up to me." The young man chuckled. "I thought it over…and I felt it was best if I stayed here. Further away I am from my uncle and that woman in red the better."

"I think in this case I can agree. If the truth about you was revealed during the alliance meetings, it could complicate things." Geralt muttered after a moment of thought.

Gendry was silent as he'd glance away slightly, seeming to have something on his mind. "I'll admit…I'm not just staying for my safety because I'm following a request from Master Mott."

Hearing the master smith's name already had the Witcher thinking. "Is it about the valyrian steel research? When I last talked to him he said he was at a big break through."

"Yes and it points to Dragonstone. He thinks there is or was a specialized forge for crafting the steel. Spent nearly every day looking…but I think I know where it may be."

"Then if you're right, make sure to get a message sent to King's Landing somehow. Hopefully he is still there unless they learned of how he helped us escape."

Gendry nodded in agreement, though for a moment seemed ready to speak further before his attention was drawn to the path from the keep. "Seven…didn't expect them to be arriving now." He muttered nervously as he'd see Stannis and Melisandre approaching with a few of his elite guard in escort. "Just try to come back here some day and whatever you do…don't trust that priestess." With that hurried response, he'd quickly move to one of the nearby stockpiles the workers were at to chat with, acting as if he was picking up supplies for the smiths while his uncle approached.

Geralt knew there was more the boy wanted to say, but time was limited and he couldn't risk drawing attention. Looking to Stannis, he'd give a respectful bow to him before speaking. "Everyone is accounted for and getting ready to leave." The Witcher stated formally.

"Good. An orderly start for our voyage." Stannis remarked as he'd look over the Fury and the gathered group. "How was your visit with Shireen yesterday? I take her condition is well."

"She is fine. It seems her Greyscale is truly gone besides the scaled scarring." He answered back. "I thought you'd speak to her about my visit before we left. After all you won't be seeing her for months."

Stannis didn't reply, though his gaze had a distant look to them. "Preparations had me busy yesterday evening and I…felt it be best not to worry her."

"Forgive me if I feel your priorities seem misplaced to me, my lord." Geralt muttered, feeling a bit of anger at Stannis's decisions. "Dedication to work is one admirable but ignoring family will become a regret one day for you."

"Your advice is noted Witcher." Stannis muttered, yet was interrupted as there were some voices coming from the keep. Both men glanced to see a long-cloaked figure hurrying along, a few guards quickly following, trying to keep up because of their armor slowing them down. "What is going on?"

"Brave girl indeed." A faint grin hinted from Geralt as he knew who it was, even with the cloak hood pulled over her head. Shireen quickly a few yards from her father, panting as she had no doubt sprinted all the way from the Dragonstone's gates to the docks to avoid the guards. By now her hood had fallen back to reveal her face to everyone else gather, drawing a few mutterings seeing her scaled scars.

Sansa, Arya and Geralt's companions watched from the ship, curious to see Stannis's mysterious daughter after so long.

Melisandre stood by with a calm look, seeming to have a small interest in the girl. However her gaze did drift a bit at Geralt, seeming to know he had a hand in setting up this moment.

"Father…" Shireen panted, her pale face flushed from her long run. "I…wanted to say goodbye…" The girl cluched a book to her chest, trying to catch her breath as she locked her gaze with her surprised father.

"Shireen, this isn't a proper way to-" He started before she spoke up.

"I don't care! I know your always busy and you want me to be safe…but I want that to change." She'd suddenly reach her arms out to embrace him, holding him as tightly as she could.

There was silence, the only noise being the splashing waves and the call of the gulls overhead. After a long moment, a faint smile showed on Stannis's face as he'd place one hand on her head, gently rubbing over her deep brown hair. "I should have noticed sooner…" He muttered before he softly spoke to Shireen, starting a quiet conversation with her. Considering the girl's reaction, surprise and then joy showed before she'd nod, holding back happy tears."

"You promise?"

"Promise." With those last simple words, Shireen let go of her father who'd give her a small pat on the shoulder. "Don't run back to the keep now, you've tired yourself out enough for one day."

She nodded as he'd turn to Melisandre silently, the woman nodding before both of them turned to head for the ship gangplank. Stannis gave a small parting wave which Shireen returned, though the girl approached Geralt instead going back to the keep. "Geralt…thank you for everything yesterday. The stories and advice you shared." She said shyly, though with a small happy smile.

"Just was trying to do the right thing." Indeed the relationship mirrored so much with Ciri and Emhyr with how distant they were. While the emperor and his daughter's history was much more complex, he knew keeping Stannis connected with Shireen could be the one thing that keeps him fully becoming coldhearted. "If anything I should be thanking you for rushing out here."

"Was a last-minute choice." She giggled as she clutched the book she had to herself. "I also have something for you. Thought you'd like a good story to read while you sail north." She'd offer the book to her, a quite worn yet sturdy book that seemed more like a journal.

Taking it, he'd examine the book which didn't have a title on the cover or book spine. "Doesn't seem like your normal book." He remarked.

"It's something that Maester Cressen's assistant found one day in his study. I think it something about an old legend about Dragonstone. It can seem like a history book at times…but it's exciting really!"

Geralt shrugged, guessing he had gotten odder gifts before. Besides, it could give some unique insights about the Targaryen past. "I'll be sure to read though it…and make sure it comes back in one piece." The ringing of the ship bell signaled that the Fury was ready to leave, making the Witcher glance back to see Arya waving to get his attention. "Anyway I best not hold up the whole ship. Take good care of yourself Shireen."

"I will! Please have a safe journey!"

With final goodbyes given, the Witcher marched up the gangplank before it was pulled up. Davos was already at the ship wheel, giving out orders for the sailors who'd drop the sails and man some oars to help get the Fury away from the docks and the harbor. Stannis stood by the sea captain watching the men at work, once more having his calm demeanor return. Arya and Sansa were distracted by the crew at work, though Barristan and Thoros made sure the two didn't in anyone's way and possibly get hurt. Soon the ship was quickly moving away from Dragonstone and picking up strong wind to begin sailing northward fully out of Blackwater Bay.

Having some time by himself, Geralt strolled along the edge of the deck, glancing eastward as his mind was thinking about Ciri after the drama between Shireen and Stannis. Leaning against the wood railing, he'd sigh as he wondered what his adopted daughter was going through on the other continent. "Most likely giving the Dothraki hell…or anyone who crosses her." He chuckled, imaging the surprise the fierce warriors would get when the young woman revealed her impressive fighting skills. The amusing thoughts eased his worry a bit, though he'd soon focus on book he had just been gifted. "Let's see what it's about…" Flipping to the cover page, he'd at last find the title written in faded ink.

 _ **A Study of the Grey Knights: Westeros' Forgotten Champions**_

…

 **Notice: I know I have been quite silent for the past few months, mainly because work hasn't been kind to me and a lot of new games have kept me distracted. I've been getting myself back into my usually writing pace, but I can't make any promises. I'm also happy we've reached 1400 subscribers as well despite my hiatus! Hello and thank you to all newcomers!**

 **However with October nearing I have a special idea in mind relating to another crossover for the Witcher. I'll have a poll up to see if anyone is interested, so if you want to see what the idea is, take a peek. That aside, next chapter or two will be all about Ciri, which I can say I'm very excited for. As always share your thoughts be it through reviews, the forum or PMs to me.**


	29. S2-E5: The City of Bones

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The City of Bones**

 **Forward: Credit for edits from Rainsfere and beta reading from Wilamelm2.**

 **Ciri – Somewhere in the Red Wastes – One day after Geralt Leaves Dragonstone**

…

A month and a week…a time that seemed to stretch forever to Ciri. She had forgotten how harsh the desert was since the day she had ended up in the Korath Desert in her hurried escape from Thanedd Island when a coup broke out and Vilgefortz tried to capture her. She experienced what it truly feel thirsty, exhausted and tired that day, something she had hoped not to endure once more. The Red Wastes were similar, but this time she had supplies and people to rely on this time.

The trek south was a difficult one even with the large amount of water the group had gotten from the snow she brought. Everyone knew they had to move quickly, yet the rough terrain and unyielding sun made every mile grueling. Whenever they camped, the Bloodriders and abled bodied men would head out to hunt for anything in the area or find any sources of water. Ciri in time would take part in these hunts, giving her time to practice her warping abilities to quickly take down the agile gazelle and skittish dune rabbits. It gave her time to practice her powers, knowing she needed to be at full strength if any new threats came along. Even with her abilities they had suffered some losses mainly with the older member of the khalasar being unable to handle the tough journey. Daenerys grieved every loss, but even she understood some deaths were unavoidable.

During their traveling, Ciri woud spend much of her evenings around Daenerys and Jorah, learning as much as she could about the world. If she planned to play the role as the young woman's sister, she had to understand the Targaryen family's history in case anyone tried to question her. She'd also begin to learn bits of Dothraki and High Valyrian, a stepping stone to learning the two very exotic languages.

In the meantime she helped Dany care for her dragons who were growing at an amazing rate. Ciri was lucky to have kept her journal and already was dedicating as much time as possible into writing everything she learned about these creatures. Already they were the size of cats and beginning to actively hunt small pests whenever they camped. While they still desired cooked meat, anything they hunted down they brought back to be cooked for them to be eaten. They were showing adaptive learning yet they listened to Daenerys as if she was truly there mother. Though in a way, she was considering how she had an important part in their birth. Ciri had a theory that the magic involved in reviving the eggs could be why they shared such a close bond with the Targaryen and explain why they were also growing up so fast.

"I'm sure Vesemir would have some good theories." She muttered to herself, a soft yet sad smile showing on her face.

"Your mentor I take? I remember you mentioning him before in a few past conversations." Jorah remarked, making Ciri snap to attention and glance at the gruff man. While the man was used to roaming this harsh region, his skin was red in patches from sunburns and the dry climate, but the man seemed unfazed from it all.

Ciri nodded. "He was more like a grandfather to me and a father to all the other Witchers. He was a masterful swordsman and wise teacher." She'd paused for a moment, glancing away. "He…died trying to protect me."

Jorah was silent, gaze looking sideways as he felt troubled on the matter. "Always hard to lose those close to you. I'm sorry if I brought back bad memories."

"Its fine. It has been months since it's happened, and he's been avenged." Ciri took a deep sigh. "Right now I shouldn't be focusing about the past, not when we're on the brink of dying from thirst." She'd lick her dry lips, glancing at her near empty waterskin on the side of her saddle.

"We're on our last water rations now." Jorah remarked. "Only a day…maybe two if we really push ourselves."

"Any chance we'll get lucky finding a source of water?"

"Maybe…but if it isn't soon we'll lose people quite quickly. Right now our best bet for survival is the City of Bones."

"Considering we are looking for a ruined city in a vast desert…well…could be we've passed it or haven't even reached it. The Wastes are a massive place after all."

"Then all we have is faith or luck to get us by." Jorah chuckled, trying to make light of their dire situation.

Ciri chuckled wearily at the remark before nodding as she guided her horse up a slopping hill. By now the sun was getting low, casting a light orange haze across the red sands of the Waste. Reaching the top, the two paused to gaze over the new horizon, a vast flat valley stretching even further south. Yet out in the middle of that open space was a rocky formation main up of dusty white stone. "Wait a moment…that can't be natural…" Ciri muttered as she'd reach into her pack, taking out a small telescope she had packed for our journey.

Jorah squinted his eyes to gaze out, nodding in agreement. "You're right. Hard to make out but that outer circle looks like-"

"A wall." Ciri finished, peering through the telescope and looking over the ruined fortification. "I can see buildings and towers, even a yard with a well." She'd handed the telescope to the former knight, who looked through it, a small grin hinted his lips.

"We must inform the Khalessi then." Jorah handed the telescope back to Ciri, the ashen haired woman taking it back and putting in her pack. However, she'd suddenly slip off her horse and begin picking out a few supplies and tools from her saddle pack. "What are you doing?"

"Scouting it out for trouble." Ciri simply answered back. "I'd rather not have the khalasar run into a group of slavers who could be camping in the same spot."

Jorah couldn't deny she had a point, but a concern hint showed in his eyes. "It seems risky to just go off by yourself. It will take us hours just to reach the ruins, even if we push ourselves at full speed."

"Heh, still worried I can't handle myself?" Ciri chuckled playfully as she finished picking out needed belongings. "Even if there is trouble lurking down there, I doubt it can be worse compared to what I've faced back home."

In the end Jorah sighed before nodding. "Just be on your guard." He simply replied back. Taking the reins of her horse, he'd turn to face downhill, though glance back at her. "I'll try to ride ahead and meet up at least."

"Of course…" Ciri hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit odd with the man's kind concern for her. "Anyway don't rush yourself. Rather not have you pass out on the way there." With that small jest given she'd glanced back out to the distant ruin, taking a deep breath as she focused on the square she had seen that well at. Letting her power flow through her, she'd disappear in a soft flash of light.

Jorah waited for a moment before shaking his head, feeling silly that he was acting up like this around the young woman. "Damn old habits…" He muttered to himself as he'd begin a quick pace back towards the khalasar and inform his queen of their discovery.

…

Was alert as she reappeared in the courtyard, one hand reaching back for her sword to be quickly drawn if needed. Her gaze drifted around her surroundings, dusty white buildings and narrow alleyways in all directions. The whistling sound of blowing wind echoed around, truly making this city feel dead. Relaxing, her attention focused on the nearby well which she approached and leaned over to peer inside. With the low sun casted plenty of shadows, there was just enough light to see the gleam of water below.

"Need to see if its clean to drink." Glancing around, she'd notice a bucket half buried in the sand and quickly pull it free…along with a dry skeleton hand. She'd flinch at first before the skeletal hand fell off the bucket grip, clattering into many pieces when it hit the ground. "Right…City of Bones for a reason." She muttered before getting out a short line of rope from her pack. Tying it to the bucket, she'd drop it down the well until hearing an echoing splash from below.

Getting the rope on a snug nook of the well's side, she'd begin to tug the filled bucket upward at a slow pace. Even with her fit body it was tricky to do without a proper pully, but after a few long minutes the bucket neared the top. Quickly grabbing the grip of the bucket, she'd yank it out of the well without spilling to much water. Staring into the contents, she grinned seeing as the water was clear except for the few bits of sand at the bottom. Ciri nearly dunked her head into the bucket, gulping down water and soaking her face before pulling back with a gasp. "Yep…definitely safe." She'd take some time to wash off her face of dust and sweat before taking a few more drinks.

She'd pour the last of the remaining water into her waterskin before turning to face the many different paths out of this yard. Ciri knew she had to head northward where the khalisar would be approaching form. While she could teleport outside the city wall, it made more sense to explore the ruins to get understand it's layout and find a suitable spot for the group to camp at. Figuring out with direction was north, she'd head down one alleyway which led into the winding maze of backstreets that went throughout the city. At every corner she'd use a rock to mark a clear arrow so she or anyone else wouldn't have any issues retracing the path back to that lone well.

"This place is massive…" Ciri muttered as she'd pass by ruined villas with overgrown gardens full of exotic fruit trees and decorative plants. She'd pass into a large market square at one point, a large cracked fountain with a worn statue depicting a sphinx like creature. Across the walls and even sand encrusted ground she could see mosaics that depicted images of Essos mythical creatures or everyday life within the city. She felt like she could spend months shifting through these ruins and only find a fraction of this city's past.

What was troubling was indeed the main aged bones she found, countless people who died from forgotten causes. In a way it reminded her of the horrible discovery she had found within the realm of the Aen Elle. The elves had invaded that world and wiped out the humans, leaving only isolated ruins filled with piles of bones. The image of those countless skulls had her shiver, but she put that distant memory behind to focus on the present.

"This square would work well for the group. Lots of space, intact buildings for shelter along with nearby wells and places to collect food." She muttered to herself as he pace around the empty market. After a good while surveying the area to ensure it was clear of possible threats, she'd find a open street leading further north, letting her avoid the confusing alleys she had been using so far. There was rubble in the path, but nothing too difficult to get around or over. Soon she could see the worn walls and a city gate, it's heavy metal and stone doors long broken by forgotten invaders. Passing through the opening, she'd be gazing off into the vast desert that stretched northward and the tall hills where they had discovered this lost city.

Narrowing her gaze, she'd see the shadow of the khalisaar at the hill top, beginning their careful approach downward to the city. Three riders were quickly approaching the city from the main group, no doubt Jorah and a few of the Bloodriders seeking to meet up with her. The exiled knight was at the lead when the group reached her, being quite dusty because of the sprint he had made his horse go. "Told you I'd get here quickly." He chuckled, though he seemed a bit winded from racing to the city gates. "No trouble inside."

"Just dusty streets and old bones, no lurking bandits or monsters if that is what you'regoo worried about." She playfully answered back while he dismounted. "I told you didn't need to rush yourself." She'd pat one hand over his shoulder, a thick plume of sand and dust coming off him.

"Haven't had a good bath since we've first met anyway…" He started before the ashen haired woman took out her waterskin and poured it over the man's head, soaking over sun bleached hair and his dry face. Jorah blinked water from his eyes while the Bloodriders chuckled out as Ciri shoved the half empty waterskin into his hands.

"Well…it's a start." She sarcastically remarked, making Jorah smirk a bit in amusement, easing his formal mood. Glancing at the horses the group had rode in, they had dozens of waterskins attached to them, empty ones collected from the Khallisar. "Getting water for everyone before they arrive."

Jorah nodded, shaking the remaining water off his head as he'd take the reins of his horse. "It was Khalessi's idea that we get water for everyone. Most are at the brink and too weak to work collecting water at a well…so it will be up to us to collect water for now."

"The well I found is a few blocks away. Just follow the main street to reach an empty market, then enter an alleyway with an arrow marking. I left more to guide the way."

"Perfect. Hopefully we'll get most of this before the group settles in." Jorah remarked before gesturing to Aggo and Kovarro to lead their horses into the ruined city. "We'll follow your directions while you and Rakharo wait here to guide everyone to the market square. By the time everyone is settling in we'll have plenty of water to go around. I'll see both of you hopefully within the next hour." Mounting his horse again, he'd lead the other Blood Riders into the city, all three disappearing behind the rumbled buildings.

Rakharo gave a tired sigh as he'd begin to pace around the ruined city's walls, gazing up at the sun-bleached stone with a thoughtful look. "So this is the City of Bones. I wonder if my ancestors really did destroy this city ages ago."

Ciri shrugged as she'd stare across the walls too. "Unless your people had siege weapons back then…I don't think so." She remarked.

The Blood Rider frowned slightly at the statement. "I have come to respect you Ciri…but insulting the strength of my people is pushing it."

She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not though. It's just even a city in its decline would have been difficult to raid without siege weapons and tools." She explained. "Considering what I've learned about your people you don't know much about such engineering."

"Ingin-what?" Rakharo muttered in confusion, making Ciri snicker a bit in amusement. "If what your saying is a joke, I don't get it."

"There is no joke…it's a bit complicated to explain really." She'd pause in thought before continuing. "So besides fighting other Dothraki, have you fought proper soldiers before?"

Rakharo paused in thought. "Battled the Unsulled a few times. Merchants buy their services to protect their caravans. Fearless and disciplined warriors, though empty in purpose." He'd smirk a bit. "Being all eunuchs does deprive them much of life after such."

She had heard a bit about the slave warriors the Blood Rider mentioned, though it was disturbing that tens of thousands were raised in such a way. "Yet how many and in what conditions? I know the Dothraki are unmatched in surprise blitz attacks, yet all it would take is the right formation to ward off an attack." She'd again gesture to the wall. "And unless your horses can batter down city gates or climb walls, I don't see how you could take any city like this."

Her blunt remarks at first made Rakharo remain silent, putting some of his pride aside under such hard remarks. "So how do you know so much when it comes to the way of war?" He asked curiously.

Now it was Ciri's turn to be silent before looking back at the Dothraki. "Because my father expected me to know."

With the harrowing statement though, both could hear the cheering voices of the Khalssar nearing them. At the front of the group was Daenerys herself, the young woman seeming quite exhausted considering her weary movements and having dust coating her pale skin. The tired Dothraki surrounded Ciri, giving out a mix of prayers and thanks to her for finding shelter after so long. It was a bit overwhelming really having so many people around her, yet she'd smile back and thank them back kindly.

"Seems fate has been kind to us once more." Dany said with a small chuckle. Her voice sore from the lack of water and dry air. "I hope there is water within the city for us all."

Ciri nodded before taking out her waterskin to offer it to the Targaryen. "There seems to be intact wells within the city. The water seems pure enough, so it should all be safe to use." However, she noticed that Dany didn't take the waterskin from her. "Daenerys, you need to drink sooner thaneven later. You've been skipping your rations for everyone else."

At first Dany seemed ready to argue back, yet her people quickly focused on her. From what Ciri could pick out, they were pleading for her to drink after so long, showing their thanks and worry for her. In the end, she'd smile and nod to them before accepting the waterskin. A few small sips soon became quick gulps, unable to resist sating her thirst. Finishing, she'd cough a bit before handing the waterskin back. "I didn't realize I was that parched." She chuckled, her voice clearer now. "Thank you Ciri."

"Your welcome Khaleesi." Ciri turned to the gate where already the group was starting to enter the city. They seemed fascinated with the ruins, though many were just glad to be in shade after weeks being exposed to the sun. "Anyway I found us a perfect spot for us to camp. We best get there quickly since a few of us seem to be ready to collapse."

Daenerys glanced around her weary people, nodding in agreement. Glancing to the side, she'd look to a ruined statue nearby where her dragons were clambering over, their growing wings letting them just flutter upward as they played about. "Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion. Come along now." She kindly spoke out to the dragons, making the three look towards her. Quickly they hurried over to her, Drogon giving a short fluttering jump to get onto the young woman's back and perch on her shoulder, while Dany carried Rhaegal in her arms. Viserion though moved to Ciri, the dragon giving chirping sound as it hopped around the woman's boots. "Heh…seems he's taken quite a liking to you."

"Most likely because I'm babysitting them all the time." She teased back before picking up the green scaled dragon. Even though she had been around these creatures for over a month, she still couldn't believe she was holding a dragon in her arms. Petting across the rough scales, Viserion murmured as he'd close his eyes to take a short nap. "Doubt even Geralt will believe this."

Soon the group arrived at the market square, everyone quickly setting their supplies down as they took shelter in the more intact buildings. Many quickly laid out bed mats and collapsed, too tired to do anything more and just wishing to cool down from the days out in the sun. A larger room was saved for Dany and her dragons, so they could rest more privately. Rakharo would remain outside the doorway keeping watch, ready to alert the two women of Jorah's returned. The three dragons would quickly go about exploring the room, no doubt eager to hunt down any pests lurking about. Ciri meanwhile would get bedding out for Daenerys, the young woman nearly collapsing when she at last could lay down.

"Safe…we're at last safe…" She muttered, one arm draped over her face across her eyes.

"It has been a hard trek Dany. You've done your best in leading your people this far." Ciri assured her.

Daenerys could only mutter in response, too tired for any more words. By now her dragons returned, crawling over to her prone form to curl up around her sides. In the end her arms moved to gently hold the creatures close, a soft smile crossing her lips as she fell asleep.

"Rest well Mother of Dragons." Ciri whispered, getting a light blanket to cover Dany and her children before quietly leaving the room. Outside she'd see Jorah and the other Bloodriders arriving, the waterskins on their horses now heavy with water. Quickly the tired Khalisar hurried to their side as they were quickly handed the filled waterskin. The air filled with words, even singing praise as at last they had fresh water after so long. The sight of joyful faces brought a hopefully smile to the silver haired woman, knowing that things were about to turn around for this desperate group.

…

 **The City of Bones – Two Days Later**

Bit by bit the Khalisar had been patching up the buildings in the market, giving them basic homes as they gradually recovered from their month-long trek. The square was filled with activity as the Khalisar were busy with mending clothes and tools, sorting out supplies and tending to those in need. The group was quickly recovering thanks to the ample supplies of water and food the ruin city provided, though it would take well over a week before they were able to travel further south. Daenerys spent a day and a night just sleeping, her dragons never leaving her company during that time. Only on the second day did she go out to greet her people, easing their growing concern for her.

Jorah had proposed to search around the nearby districts of the market to look for supplies, mainly anything that possible travelers had left behind, or smugglers hidden away. Groups where made up of the fittest men, the Bloodriders, along with Ciri and Jorah as well. Currently she and the knight where checking the northern district, which from their investigations had been dedicated to crafting.

"Sand…bones…and rusty tools." Jorah sighed as he'd examine a ruined workshop. It's presumed owner, a dried out skeleton laid slumped in one corner, an ancient spear shaft between his ribs and a hammer just within his grasp. Reaching down, he'd examine the aged hammer closely. "Never seen so much death just…left here. Like as if this army just swept in, killed everything in sight and then simply left." Tossing the tool aside, he'd stand up to look at Ciri who was caving over the small work anvil that had toppled over the years.

"Reminds me of how the Wild Hunt worked. Arrive without warning, killing and taking what they want before disappearing just as suddenly." She remarked. "The surprise and terror…it can make even a hardened warrior stand in complete shock before being cut down."

"Well I doubt an army of ghostly horsemen did this." Jorah chuckled, having heard the woman's tale of the otherworldly riders. "In the end it doesn't matter. What happened here is long forgotten and hopefully we won't be joining that history."

Ciri remained silent, only nodding as she'd move out of the workshop and back to the street. Glancing up and down it, she could see more bones littering around, half buried in sand and rumble. Her mind was already wondering about what would happen if she failed in her greater mission…whole worlds filled with dead cities like this.

"Ciri?"

Jorah's remark had her snap to attention and nod to him. "Just lost in though. I'd think I'd be use to seeing this after all my travels…and being here for days. I guess I was wrong."

"It's a good thing. It shows your still human in the end…and a sense of feeling still." The knight assured her. "I've seen men who've become too cold to death and violence. What they become is…disturbing."

The two of them move down the street, each one glancing to a different side to look at the ruined buildings all around them. Few buildings had any doors left, what few remaining being wooden wreaks hanging on their hinges.

"So why do you think we'll find anything among these ruins?" Ciri questioned.

"Experience. You do remember I ran with plenty of groups since coming to Essos, be it mercenaries or smugglers. Ruins like this are prime places for dead drops or long-term storage for smuggled items. Isolated locations like is are perfect for such discreet dealings."

"Ah…fair point." Ciri muttered, though narrowed her eyes as she'd notice a marking along an alley wall. It wasn't like the aged graffiti or chiseled directions written in a forgotten language that littered the city, this one looked much more recent. The symbol looked like an arrow yet was written in an Essos dialect. "Check this out." Pointing it out, she'd lead Jorah to it where the knight quickly examined it. "I can't really make it out. May be a quick learner, but the words seem almost…gibberish from what I can make out."

"Because its smuggler slang, sort of a code speech. In person it…well…sounds like an insult contest or senseless small talk." Jorah explained as he studied the writing. "Seems this is directions, most likely to a stash." Gesturing forward, he'd lead the way down the side alleys that snaked throughout the district.

"Seems like you gained quite a few skills since you left Westeros." Ciri remarked. "You know, you haven't told me or Dany why you were exiled from Westeros."

"Its…a complicated and personal matter." Jorah sighed, glancing a bit back at the silver haired woman before looking forward. "I guess I haven't shared much about my life back in Westeros during our travels, so I guess I can share a bit for now." Reaching a split of alleyways, he'd pause to look between them as he continued to speak. "I was born into House Mormont of the North, a highly respected family because of our history of honor and loyalty. We had our own island, Bear Island-"

"Wait Bear Island?" She giggled. "So let me guess, when your ancestors found their home it was full of bears."

"Well…yes…and it still is." Jorah muttered, seeming a bit embarrassed by Ciri's teasing manners. "My House was and still is a blunt and simple family." However, he'd shrug as he tried to continue his story. "Our island home isn't rich with resources, but it was in a key location to protect the north western coast of the North from the Ironborn raiders. Over the ages my home produced the strongest men and woman warriors, which were valued at three bannermen each."

"Female warriors, that is a rarity considering."

Jorah nodded in agreement. "Between the younger warriors leaving to hone their skills on the mainland, leaving our defenses thinned out." His gaze focused on the right most street, gesturing as he'd lead the way in that direction. "Since we didn't wish to lose what little we had, the women were trained to fight when needed. It is of course a choice, but many even the youngest sees it as an honor and duty."

"Heh, I'm sure I'd be welcomed there then."

"I'm certain you would." However, before he could say anything more, he'd notice another smuggler's marking the way to a narrow side street. "Story will have to wait for now…we're getting close. Let's be on a guard though, since whoever made this trail may have left traps."

Ciri nodded as they'd move down the narrow alleyway, forcing them to move single file until reaching a dead-end yard. There were eight doors set around, the most intact ones the two had seen since coming to this abandoned city. "These look new. Crude but sturdy." She remarked.

"Considering the effort put into this stash, it must mean it's a valuable one." Pacing to one door, he'd study over the worn wood. "No doubt these doors will be trapped or be dead-ends. Going to have to be careful searching for these."

"Wait is there any clues to the right door?"

"Not from what I can tell. The smugglers would obviously remember and if this was a dead drop the buyer would no doubt have information beforehand." Moving to one door, he'd shift to the side of one door, he'd carefully push the door open. Pausing, he'd glance in and see that just beyond the doorway was a short pit, filled with deadly spikes. "Very well made. Definitely something worthwhile here."

One by one the two checked the doors with all sorts of traps. From trip-wire crossbows, maiming bear traps and even a spiked jaw trap. A few doors did lead to ruined and empty rooms, until at last the two only had one room left. "Should I have the honors?" Ciri said with a smirk to Jorah.

"Gladly."

Carefully opening the door, a surprised look crossed Ciri's face at what was revealed. A collection of sturdy crates surrounding a chest were set in the back of the room. "A lucky find indeed." Already she was moving to enter the room, but Jorah suddenly had one hand grasp at her shoulder to stop her.

"Not so fast." He calmly muttered to her, making Ciri freeze up. She just realized it too as she felt a firm wire just at the top of her boot. She'd notice how Jorah nodded to the side, making her notice among the loose dust and sand a dried-up corpse nearby. "Going to have to move fast. Whatever triggers this trap will happen as soon as you move. Lucky that is your forte."

Ciri smirked a bit despite the nervous edge she felt. Letting Jorah stand back she'd simply focus on her inner power, glowing blue energy swirling for a short moment before she wrapped. She'd put herself as far away from the doorway a possible, which was a smart move as a spiked claw trap lashed out from the side and stabbed where she had just stood. The device was much more complex than the other traps, having a counter-weight system to reset the claw back into place. "A final trick for any intruder." She remarked, moving to the reset trap as she'd simply cut the wire cords that let it spring forward.

"Most likely a final security measure." Jorah remarked as he'd move to check the dried-up corpse nearby. "Must have been here for months to end up like this. Could have been another smuggler who tracked this place down or simply a drifter who stumbled onto this."

"An unlucky fate." Ciri remarked as her own attention fell on the lone chest, which on closer examination had quite the tough lock. "Now…what is in here?" Reaching behind her head, she'd tug off a small hairpin she had holding up the small bun styling she had. Tying the fine metal pin, she'd kneel down to the chest lock to examine it more closely.

By now Jorah noticed, curious at what she was doing. "Lock picking?" He questioned.

"Let's just say I haven't told you everything about my past." She slyly remarked. "There was a time when I was on my own and I got caught up with a gang of young thieves." Fiddling with the pin, she carefully shaped it out before inserting it into the lock. "Taught me a few skills my father's tutors or even the Witchers wouldn't have. Useful if dubious."

Jorah simply nodded, deciding not to be too distracting as he let Ciri focus on her lockpicking while he checked through the crates. Minutes passed by as she worked the lock, ending as the mechanism gave a click. "Still got it…though need to work on my speed." Ciri boasted while Jorah walked over to her side. "So what have you found so far?"

"Mix of weapons, armor, clothing and tools. The usual items." The man remarked as Ciri grasped the chest lid to lift it up. Looking inside as the woman shifted aside fine silken cloth and bags of coin. "At the least we won't be going to Qarth empty handled nor looking like complete beggars." Yet as the items were shifted aside, his eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.

"By the Seven, Old Gods and everything else…how in the Hells did they find this?!" Jorah muttered out in complete shock at the true treasure at the bottom of that chest.

…

 **Two Days Later**

Daenerys strolled down a side street that lead away from the market camp, having finished speaking with her people. So far, their concerns have been taken care of, leaving her with more time to herself. She had changed into a sapphire blue tunic gown with leather pants and banded boots, a more regal outfit then her Dothraki garb yet no less practical in design. Following close behind them were Dany's three dragons, eagerly staying close to their 'mother'.

Walking alongside was Jorah, who had gotten a few light armor pieces added to his usual attire which was properly cleaned by now. While studded leather bracers, new sturdy boots and a flexible leather vest pale in comparison to the plate he formally had it was more suited for the arid environment. "Anyway here we are." He remarked as they entered a yard area had been cleared out of piles of sand and possible junk, offering plenty of space to move around and set up some basic training dummies.

"So this is your little surprise Ciri?" Dany asked curiously, eyeing her warriors as they finished getting the last dummy set deep into the ground. "Planning to drill the Bloodriders or offer training to the others?"

"Not exactly." Ciri stated before she'd give a grunt setting the last dummy in place. "This is meant to train you Daenerys.

The Targaryen gave a confused look at the remark, while Jorah sighed out having expected this. "Ciri, I'm not a fighter like you. I've…well…" She'd pace towards one dummy designed to be someone with a squared shield and sword. "Closest thing I've ever had to a weapon was a stick when I was a child."

"Told you this is a bad idea." Jorah muttered to Ciri when he paced over to her, though she gave him a sharp glare to have him quiet down.

"I think both of you misunderstand what I'm trying to do here." She remarked back, arms across in front of her. "Despite having us and in time her dragons protecting her, it would be wise to at least teach her some basics on self-defense."

Dany had a thoughtful look on her face as she'd move around the yard, staring at the practice dummies and noticing some wood short swords set around. "I guess the thought hasn't cross my mind." Yet the distant look in her eyes hinted that there had been countless situations such skills would have been invaluable in.

"Before I was even taken in by the Witchers, I was expected to one day be able to physically protect myself. Being the daughter to the world's biggest empire draws plenty of enemies and the last line of defense for your own life will be yourself." Ciri moved to a crate set aside as a makeshift table, picking up something wrapped in leather. "Besides, if you plan to be a ruler it would be best you know how to wield this."

Undoing the wrap revealed a sheathed short sword, the sheath being an aged gray and having faded dialect across it. The exposed hilt and cross guard was beautifully designed with the pommel being shaped like a roaring dragon with a deep red gem set in it's jaws. The grip had a smooth scaled pattern for the 'body' of the beast while the cross guard set to be like spread wings.

Daenerys walked closer to the held-out weapon, staring across it with wonder. She could just read those faded words and knew that this was a weapon of her people. Grasping the weapon, she'd draw the blade out slowly, trying not to be clumsy with how she held it. With the blade out, she'd stare at the rippled pattern across the flawless metal, a crafting secret lost to the ages. "It is beautiful and far lighter then I thought." She muttered. "So you found this in the stash? How could smugglers have found this like this, much less leave something so valuable."

"Now that is a mystery onto itself. Could have been discovered by treasure hunters, stolen or traded around. As for why it was here, it could have been left for someone to pick up or they simply didn't understand it's worth." Jorah explained with a shrug. "Whatever the reason, it's better suited to be in your ownership."

"Yet shouldn't just be a hip ornament." Ciri quickly added. "If we plan to impress the Thirteen after all and it will no doubt take more then the dragons to sway them in aiding us. You have to show them that your capable to carry your family name despite what has happened."

Dany was silent as she thought over these words and nodding. "You are right. I have to be stronger…more confident in myself if we are to deal with this Council." A determined, excited look hinted in her eyes as he looked up at Ciri. "So how do we start?"

Giving a pleased grin, Ciri moved closer and helped Dany sheath the valyrian short sword. "For one this sword deserves a name."

Again Daenerys paused in thought as she held the gray sheath tightly. " _Sigligon._ It means reborn in Valyrian. As I and my dragons were reborn in fire, so will I give this sword a new life under my care."

"A fine name Khaleesi." Jorah complimented, Ciri nodded in agreement.

"Now then, unless you have any plans for today, we best get started!" Moving to the wooden swords set aside, she'd pick two up for the both and hand own to the nervous Valyrian. "First off we need to work on the basics. How to grip the weapon, handle it's balance, stance and the like." Yet already she could see the blank look in Dany's eyes from so many details. "Trust me. May seem like a lot but it's not too complicated."

Ciri would lead Dany into the center of the yard, while Jorah stood back to lean against a wall to watch. He had a doubtful look but seemed curious to watch how Ciri would teach his Khaleesi.

"So what first?"

"How to hold the sword for one. Took a while carving these practice swords, but their close to the weight of Sigligon." Ciri replied back. "First off you can't be loose with it. Being too relaxed can strain your wrist and make it easier to fumble with your weapon."

For half an hour help held the young Targaryen figure out how to properly hold the weapon. From every aspect of the hand, arm and shoulder, Dany would get an idea on properly holding the practice sword in one hand. "I think I'm understanding this."

"Its all about understanding yourself and the weapon you choose." Ciri chuckled with a small smile. "Anyway, next step is your stance. Your footing is key if you plan to go offensive and defensive, yet in your case defense should be favored." Pacing around the Targaryen, she'd give a small gesture. "Spread your legs out, turn your feet and bend your knees slightly. A low stance means your harder to move and hit."

With a few minutes and a little be of prodding, Ciri soon got the young Targaryen into the correct stance. Though glancing at Jorah, the knight seemed a bit baffled seeing the ashen haired woman practically manhandling the Khaleesi who was trying her best not to laugh out.

"Gods sister! I get it!" Daenerys nearly giggled out as she shifted to stand straight again, though her eyes did get wide realizing what she had called Ciri. "Sorry just…reacted like that…"

For a moment Ciri stared back, a bit taken aback but smirked. "You shouldn't. If anything that is something we need to practice before we get to Qarth. Have to make them believe we are related after all."

"Right…I nearly forgot." Daenerys muttered, brushing back a bit of hair from her face while trying to glance away to hide the faint blush she had. "It's strange. We've been together for a little over a month, yet you feel more like a sibling to me then Viserys ever was." She had shared pieces about her late brother, from his cruel manipulations and slipping sanity which was case within the Targaryen family from their tradition of often marrying within their bloodline. In a way Ciri knew that Dany was glad he was gone after the terrible things he had done to her yet pitied him at the same time. Perhaps if things had been different, he would have been a kinder and truer brother.

It took Cirilla a moment to gather herself to answer back. "I'm honored Dany." She softly answered back before patting the girl on the shoulder, making her look up at the ashen haired woman with a welcomed look in her fair eyes.

There was a small cough though that did draw to two girls attention, being reminded that Jorah was still standing by watching. "If you wish I could leave." He offered with a smirk. "Rather not intrude on such bonding." Both sighed and rolled their eyes, but it just made the knight laugh out now. "You two really are alike."

"Alright enough distractions." Ciri quickly spoke out. "Right. Grip and stance check…let's see if you can get a proper swing or two done." Nodding to the nearby training dummy, Dany approached it and shifted into a ready stance as she had been taught so far. It wasn't perfect, yet suitable for now. "Now using a sword requires aligning your body and the blade properly. Its important you never pull back or angle the weapon improperly, otherwise it is you who'll get cut."

The warning did drawn a nervous gulp from Daenerys who then nodded in understanding. Focusing on the dummy, she'd pause as she planned how to slash out with the wooden sword. With a determined look she'd swing the weapon in a diagonal manner at the nook of the dummy's shoulder and neck. She'd twist her body about to flow with the attack until at last the wooden weapon striked. There was a resounding crack and yell of shock as the practice sword bounced roughly off the wooden dummy, the weapon flinging out of Dany's hands.

"Ugh! I think…I over did that." Wincing, she rubbed her wrist, looking at the chipped spot she had made. "I flowed through the strike like you said though."

"You did. Not bad for a first try." Ciri commented as she picked up the weapon. "But you are correct, you put too my effort into the attack and couldn't handle the impact. An armored or tougher target requires you to also judge the force you have to put forward as well."

"I find it so baffling though. When you or the others fight it seamless from my point of view."

"All about practice and experience. Trust me, I had the same problems you did while learning. A full blow like that would have worked on a softer target, yet with a tougher one you have to pull the blow back in a whipping motion." Quickly she'd shift her stance before giving a quick controlled blow at the same spot Dany had picked. The weapon cracked again the wooden dummy, yet it wasn't as loud as Daenerys own blow. Quickly retracting her sword arm back, she then twist her body as she side stepped to flow into another blow to the dummy's side. "You use the momentum to flow into your next attack or in your case reposition yourself." Flipping the practice blade in her grip, she offered the hilt end to Daenerys who hesitantly took it back.

"It makes sense." She remarked simply back as she examined the weapon before stepping back into place. Stance shifted once more, she had a stern look on her face before she'd lash out like before yet slower. Striking the same spot as before, she gave a low grunt yet didn't lose her weapon this time. Pulling back, she'd back step with a small pant before stepping forward to strike at the side, then to the hip.

"That's it. Focus on precision and pacing." Ciri remarked while pacing close by to obverse each move. A faint smile showed as Daenerys became quite focus, even as when she'd strain herself or fumble with her weapon. "A good start Dany…a good start."

…

 **Three Days Later**

Time passed by as the next few days for Ciri were dedicated in helping around the market camp, scouting through the city and training Daenerys. While it tiring work, it was far better then the hardship they had faced in the Red Wastes a week ago. Having a roof over her head, fresh waters and proper meals did make quite the difference after all. Then there was the growing sisterly bond she was having with the young Targaryen during practice, different from the countless hours of chatting and storytelling they shared so far. She had always wondered if she'd ever be a suitable teacher when it came to training and it seemed that was a possibility considering the current results.

"Remember where your moving. Back away when attacked and press forward when on the offence." She quickly informed before slashed out with her wooden sword which Dany blocked with the flat of her own weapon, redirecting it to the side.

The two were at the yard once again, both facing each other in a practice fight. They had improved the training yard to have a few crates set aside to make an elevated platform to test balance and positioning. Daenerys was proving to be a good student when it came to combining everything she had learned over the last days. While she had much to learn, the young Targaryen showed quite the determination no matter how rough training became. She had earned a few scraps and bruises from a few mishaps yet didn't let them get in the way of their lessons. From the sidelines her three dragons watched with curiosity, sometimes play fighting against each other whenever things got boring for them.

Daenerys did stagger back from the block, always surprised at just how strong Ciri was despite her slim build. "Just hard to keep track of everything." She panted out, the two taking a pause so the Khaleesi could catch her breath. "Moving around, tracking your enemy movements all while trying to avoid being hit." She chuckle a bit, shaking her head a bit. "I can say I now have an idea how my loyal protectors feel in a fight."

"That is good. Most rulers don't understand just how difficult fighting and warring is." Ciri remarked as she'd raise up her practice sword again, Dany tapping her weapon against it to show she was ready. The Witcheress lunged forward right after, Dany having to lean back with a small yelp to avoid the end of that sword from jabbing her shoulder. "Seen too many rulers who don't understand the price such conflicts bring."

Dany nodded as she'd soon fall into a pattern of parrying blocks and dodges, relying on her natural agility. She'd do a few counter attacks, short quick blows that Ciri avoided though it can the young Targaryen space to step up onto the crate platform. With the added height she'd give a broad swing at Ciri's head which would have surprised any other opponent. Yet the Witcheress leaned back, arching her flexible body back to just miss her by inches in a quite impressive dodge.

"Close…but not close enough." She chuckled as she gave a sweeping swing at Dany's feet, making her give a short hop to avoid it. "Using the environment is key, but it can be double edged!" She'd kick at the crate, making it rock about which made Dany stumble. Taking advantage, she'd then stab out at the Khaleesi's gut, though she'd lean back in her stumble to avoid it. However doing so made her fall off the other end, giving a grunt from hitting the ground. Ciri was quick to run around, worried she had hurt the Khaleesi only to find the girl shifting up onto her knees. "A bit of a clumsy escape but better than being stabbed." Ciri complimented.

"Obviously a real enemy wouldn't be chatting with me right now." Daenerys jested as she stood up now, dusting off her sky-blue outfit. "So how would I get out of that situation then? What would you do if you were knocked down?"

Ciri tapped her wooden sword in her other hand, thinking for a moment. "Fight dirty. Grab a bunch of dirt and gravel to throw in their face then go for a low blow." She grinned a bit. "Works best on men…if they aren't armored down there."

Dany blushed a bit at the answer she got before nodding. "It makes sense. Guess anything is allowed when it comes to my life."

"Exactly. Tooth and nail, always fight back." Past memories of such close encounters filled the Witcheress's mind, countless cruel foes who had been close to doing all sorts of harm to her. It was strange how when she was younger and being trained by the Witchers, she thought the monsters in all those books were worse then anything. When she had been on the run showed that humans were far worse in the end.

"Ciri?" Dany's voice had her focus back to reality, noticing the Khaleesi's worried look. "You seemed lost for a moment. First time I've seen that."

Shaking her head, she'd give a small sigh. "Just thinking about a lot of things." Pausing, she continued to speak. "We've both faced a lot of hardships in our lives…and no doubt endure plenty more along the way. At the least we got each other to get through it for now." With a soft smile, she'd pat Daernys on the shoulder.

"That…that means a lot to me." She said softly yet heard hissing off to the side. It was her dragons who had been watching them practicing along with keep an eye the nearby alleyways. The three calmed down though when they saw it was Jorah who hurried forward, who seemed to have spirited to get here.

"Khaleesi…the Blood Riders have spotted something coming from the south. An armed caravan baring a banner from Qarth." He panted out once he had catched his breath.

Both women looked at each other with surprise and curiosity at this news. "How many are there and if they are coming here when will they arrive?" Dany questioned as already the three of them where heading back to the market camp.

"At least a hundred from what the Riders could count, half of which is believed to be guards and the other servants." Jorah answered. "They're about an hour away at least and no doubt heading for the southern gate, though I'm not sure how they even know we're even here. Qarth is about nearly a week awa, so they would have had to know about our arrival here before setting out."

"Could we have been spotted out in the Wastes, perhaps by scouts or travelers who informed the city?" Ciri remarked.

"A possibility, but from a distance we wouldn't stand out to anyone who spotted us. Qarth wouldn't send such a group to greet any ragged band of travelers."

"So we have to assume they know about Daenerys." Ciri glanced to the Targaryen who seemed to be thinking over all his new information. "So how do we handle this?"

Dany didn't answer until they reached the market square, the people seeming quite active as news of the Qarth caravan was spreading. A few seemed nervous, others excited at these surprise visitors. The three Blood Riders were gathered, along with a few of the improvised guards that had been organized since finding the smuggler stash. Everyone quickly focused on Daenerys as she walked into the center of the square, her dragons moving to gather around her or climb onto the ruined fountain behind her. Ciri and Jorah moved to stand beside her, both curious to know what she had to say.

"Everyone, you all no doubt know that a group from Qarth is arriving." She spoke out in Dothraki. "We don't know their intentions, but we must present ourselves formal and strong!" Looking to her gathered handmaidens, she'd continue to speak. "Make sure we have clean water and our best clothes cleaned. I want everyone who will greet our guests to look their best."

Doreah, the leader of the handmaidens bowed to her Khaleesi. "It will be done." She simply answered back before gathering the maidens begin their tasks.

"As for my Blood Riders, I need you to split any remaining arms and armor with our most able men. I know most have little in experience, but we should try to present having some numbers in defense."

The Dothraki warriors did mutter a bit before nodding. "They will be ready within the hour." Rakharo answered back. They didn't approve of having the common Dothraki and former slaves being armed, yet even they knew that they needed the support if trouble did break out. "Alright, you heard the Khaleesi! Gather up at the north end!" He ordered out, most of the men hurrying off to follow his command.

Daenerys then looking to the remaining people, mainly to an older woman who was one of the leading elders of the group. "As for everyone else, I ask that you remain here at the square for your safety. Pack any supplies you can in case we must leave hastily."

The elder would step up to speak. "Should we worry of them attacking my Khaleesi? Even if we had all our supplies readied I doubt we could survive trekking back north through the Wastes."

"I understand your concern but that won't happen. I will do everything I can to protect all you, no matter the cost."

The words of assurance had a warm smile cross the woman's face before nodding. "Thank you Khaleesi. We will wish you good fortune for this day." With that, the last of the Dothraki filed back to their simple homes.

Dany sighed out after that, glad everything was in order. "So many relying on what I do next…"

"Well considering they followed you across the biggest wasteland in the world, I think this shouldn't faze them." Ciri chuckled, nudging Daenerys' side to snap her out of her worried mood. "So what do you need me and Jorah to do?"

"Just get yourselves cleaned up and meet me at the south end of the plaza. Just need to get myself ready." With that said, she'd move to the same house the handmaidens had gone, her dragons following along after her, leaving the two to themselves.

"She's just nervous. A lot depends on what she does today." Jorah explained to Ciri as they'd move towards the buildings that were their personal living spaces.

"You have a fair point. This is going to be her first diplomatic meeting now that I think about it." Reaching the building that she stayed in. "Besides, I'll have my part to play as her long-lost sister…so don't slip up and use my real name now."

"Heh of course. I'm not that careless after all." Jorah chuckled. "Anyway, I best get myself ready. I'll see you soon."

Nodding, Ciri watched Jorah walk away before she entered her own room. Already a handmaiden had left a bowl of water and cleaning rags for her to freshen herself up. "At least they didn't leave a dress for me." She jested to herself as she'd strip off her clothes and begin washing herself off for the coming meeting ahead.

…

Everyone was gathered at the south end of the plaza, muttering to each other or pacing about as they waited for the Khaleesi and the handmaidens. Everyone knew they would take the longest to be prepared, yet time was passing by quickly. Ciri paced back and forth as she looked across the market square constantly. "Gods now I'm the one who's nervous…" Ciri muttered before noticing Jorah approaching her.

For the first time the man was wearing his full set of armor which he had taken from his home. From a sturdy dark cuirass piece, full covering pauldrons and a reinforced waist skirt that protected most of his legs. Compared to the leather armor of even what was gathered from the smuggler stash, he had the best gear out of the whole gathering. "She should be ready any moment. No doubt having the dragons prepared as well." Jorah assured her.

"I suppose." Ciri sighed before glancing at him. "You know you did promise to continue that story of yours."

Jorah nodded, giving a sideward glance. "True…"

"And hopefully this time it won't be a history lesson."

"Heh fair enough." Jorah sighed. "My father handed Lordship to my House early in my life to join the Night's Watch before the Rebellion. I had a wife before then who…died from child birth. For a long-time things felt empty to me, the only things numbing the loss being the battles and tournaments I took part in."

"I'm…sorry for your loss." Ciri sadly remarked.

"Its fine. As I said…it was a long time past." Jorah said with a shrug. "However things changed when I met Lynesse Hightower at a tournament in victory of defeating the Greyjoy Rebellion. When I saw her…heh…I was stunned by her beauty, thought she was the Maiden of the Seven made real."

"Ah the classic love at first sight. I hope it wasn't one sided."

"Not at all. I did approach her before the joust, a short time to chat. She was a regal and witty woman, sly as a fox." A fond smile hinted his lips. "I promised on my honor that I'd crown her the queen of love and beauty that day. She thought I was jesting but when she saw that determined look on my face she was quite stunned."

"So two outcomes…you lost in an embarrassing manner or crushed the competition." Ciri questioned in a jesting manner.

Jorah couldn't help but laugh at the joke. "Well I did win, though it wasn't that easy. It was a joyous victory and in the heat of the moment…I asked for her hand in marriage. A week passed being around her family and in the end her father accepted it."

"Sounds like it was a happy ending."

"Aye…it did at the time." Before anything else could be said, some of the men spoke up when they saw their Khaleesi arrive.

Jorah and Ciri turned to watch as Daenerys approached with her handmaidens along side her. Her sky-blue dress and leather clothing were freshly clean, yet the most notable addition was _Sigligon_ on her right hip. A few of the warriors muttered, having only heard hints about the Targaryen gaining a Valyrian weapon. The handmaidens followed close behind, the ones alongside Dany carrying large baskets which had one of her dragons in them. The exotic beasts had plenty of meat to distract them, but overall seemed to be just relaxing in their mobile beds.

"Looking quite dashing there Daenerys. I expected you'd change into something more formal." Ciri chuckled.

Dany couldn't help but smile back at the compliment. "Guess your sense of style is rubbing off on me. Debated on getting a dress…but it'll just get all dusty by the time we reach the gate."

"A reasonable choice, but perhaps it would be best we chat about fashion another time." Jorah quickly remarked. "We best get to the gates before our guests arrive…don't want to make a bad impression after all."

Daenerys and Ciri nodded in agreement as the two moved to the front of the gathered party, the Blood Riders and basic warriors standing by alertly. "Then let's greet them properly." Dany calmly stated as she'd take the lead.

Taking the main road south through the ruined city, having scouted out this route over the week they had moved into the area to ensure it was safe for travel. Much like the northern gate, the southern one was just as ruined with the stone fortification broken down by the ancient invaders and time itself. Beyond the looming white walls was the southern edge of the Red Wastes, which shifted into lusher savanna and hills.

"Seems they're not here yet…" Ciri muttered while Jorah would give directions to the warriors to get into an orderly line while the Blood Riders stood flanking their Khaleesi. The handmaidens with her dragons stood at her left while Ciri stood at her right with Jorah moving to stand beside her.

They did not have to wait long though as beyond the closest hills, a trail of dust could be seen in the air and the nearing sound of movement. Rounding the hillside was a line of quite exotic procession ranging from graceful servants, lavishly armed guards and pack animals carrying bundles of supplies. At the center was a large sturdy carriage surrounded by fifteen soldiers dressed in dull grey armor and full covering helms along with being armed with a strong looking spear and large reinforced round shields. The soldiers all matched as one, always facing forward in such calm professionalism.

"Unsullied." Jorah muttered to the two women. "Elite slave soldiers from Astapor of Slaver's Bay. Trained from childhood to be fearless in battle. Seems whoever is meeting us doesn't want any surprises."

Soon the arrivals would slow to a stop a reasonable distance from the group, the carriage angled to have one door face them. Two servants hurried to get a stepping block from the back of the carriage before one opened the door to let the occupants step out.

The first individual was a bald dark-skinned man dressed in jade colored silken long vest embroiled with leaved branches across it, covering over fine tanned linen desert garb. At his belt he had a scimitar on his left hip and a curved long dagger at his right. The fitting clothing showed off his broad build, though it was obvious he wasn't truly fit to be considered a warrior. He had a mix of gleaming rings on his fingers, yet the most eye-catching piece of jewelry was the silver pendent with an emerald set in the center of it.

The second arrival was quite an oddity being a bald pale man who was quite slim and taller then the nobleman. He wore a high collared burgundy outfit with a similar linin outfit as the noble. What was more striking about the man was how pointed his ears were, the sunken look in those quite large eyes and the blue color his thin lips had.

Lastly was a woman who wore a dark flowing robe that covered nearly her whole body. Along her neck and collar was plain golden jewelry ranging from large necklace, hood clasp and neck bands that further hid her skin. Finally, her face was covered by a dark red lacquered wooden mask, which hid away her eyes from his distance.

The three strange travelers approached, their Unsullied guards following along side in a protective formation until they had closed the distance between the Dothraki group. At this point there was a tense moment of silence as everyone stared down each other.

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, The Unburnt and Mother of Dragons. I welcome you nobles of Qarth to our temporary home, this refuge we've had the fortune of discovering."

"It is good that we have found you Lady Daenerys." The dark skinned noble greeted politely, stepping forward to give a short bow to her. "My name is Xaro Xhoan Daxos, though you may simply call me Xaro. I am a member of the Thirteen, which you no doubt know is the ruling council of Qarth." He'd then gesture to his two companions. "I would also like to introduce my two allies. Pyat Pree, representative of the order of Warlocks and Quaithe who advises the Thirteen at times."

Pyat gave a wide grin before bowing to the group. "If anything my master and Quaithe were the ones to predict your arrival and advised the Thirteen to offer early aid. Only Xaro was wise enough to follow out advice."

"Predicted…as in scrying or fortune telling?" Dany questioned with sceptic manner.

"In simpler terms…yes." Quaithe at last spoke, her voice smooth and clear despite the mask she wore. "We saw two ladies of silver, one of fire and the other of frost, both leading dragons reborn to a city of the dead."

"The Thirteen found their visions…doubtful. Rumor had spread about you of your fleeing into the Red Wastes with baby dragons…" Xaro's gaze drifted to large baskets the reptile creatures rested in. While he kept a calm look, his eyes were wide in wonder seeing creatures that had become little more than tales of the past. "…and it seems that claim is very true. What does have me curious is the lovely woman beside you."

"Indeed. We all know that you had a brother who…tragically died." Pyat remarked, trying to sound respectful despite the known truth of the male Targaryen's death. "Yet none can say the last king of the Targaryen's had any other female children, much less one of your age." The warlock questioned.

Ciri knew this was her big moment, her first introduction beyond Daenerys's group. "And in a way you are right." She calmly stated. "My name is Vaera Waters, bastard daughter of Aerys Targaryen the Second and Shana Goodbrook who was a handmaiden to Rhaella Targaryen."

The declaration drew curious looks from the Xaro and whisper with Pyat while Quaithe remained silent, seeming passive to the declaration. "You'll have to forgive me if the name Goodbrook means little to me. Knowledgeable as I may be, I can't know every House in Westeros." The merchant lord remarked.

"Then I can inform you my lord." Jorah spoke up. "Goodbrook was one of the few Houses that stayed loyal to House Targaryen during the Rebellion that overthrew it. While the usurper Robert pardoned them, they have become far weaker ever since."

Xaro nodded, rubbing one hand across his well shaven chin in thought. "Interesting…" He'd pause before turning to one of the leading servants. "Let us set up the pavilion for a more comfortable meeting. As visitors here we should tend to our hosts accordingly. Besides I doubt we want to chat out here baking in the sun."

Dany thought over the offer before nodding in agreement. "That would be most welcomed."

"Excellent! My servants will have it ready within the hour. For now I wish to speak privately with my advisors over what we have shared so far."

"I can say the same." Daenerys agreed. "Then we will wait within the walls of the city and await your summons."

Xaro gave a short bow before returning to his carriage, the warlock and mystic following after him. Quaithe however did linger, staring directly at Ciri which brought a chill through her. There was something not natural about that woman…though she wasn't sure if it was because of her strange behavior or if the woman possibly had magic about her. She would snap back to attention when she realized Dany and the others were returning back through the ruined gate to take shelter in one of the more intact buildings for now.

"So far so good." She sighed once Dany sat down on a large piece of rubble, her dragons climbing out of their baskets to be close to their 'mother', with Drogon crawling onto her lap to get her attention.

"Yes but I just don't believe their claims on how they found us." Jorah remarked. "I don't believe this warlock or mystic claims on 'scrying' us. I've seen a bit of the warlocks 'magic' little more than smoke, mirrors and smug guess work."

Ciri however had a thoughtful loo, unsure what to make of the claims given. Beyond what history and lore she had learned speaking with the others, there wasn't any solid proof that they did or did not have real magic. "Whatever the case, we should be watchful among them. These warlocks may have long reaching spies and connections…but if they do have magic about them I'll notice it in due time."

"I agree. While I am curious about how they discovered us, we need their help above all else." Dany remarked.

Jorah sighed, seeming to understand their choices though having his own doubts. "As you wish…"

Everyone was silent as they waited, though the Blood Riders on watch would quickly point out an approaching servant exactly at half an hour's time. "Xaro wasn't joking about the time." Ciri couldn't help but chuckle as the servant quickly bowed to them.

"Honored ones. Master Xaro and the others are ready."

With that formal greeting given, everyone would followed the regal servant back to the city gate, where a large pavilion tent had been set up. Entering the colorful tent, they'd find the Qarthians sitting on large pillows, with others set around for the rest of them. Standing at to the sides were the Unsullied warriors, standing so still that they'd seem like statues were it not for the faint breaths they took. Set in the middle was a collection fine wines, exotic fruits and sliced spiced meats. Overall it was the most lavish food Ciri had seen yet on this world.

Xaro gave a big smile to everyone as they approached. "Thank you for your patience. I'm sure though this is much more favorable despite the wait."

Dany nodded as she'd sit down on a pillow across from the merchant noble, while the handmaidens holding the baskets her dragons rested in sitting close behind her. Ciri took a seat to the right of her 'sister', while Jorah took the spot to the left. The Blood Riders and few guards who followed in would stand behind their Khaleesi, giving mindful looks to the Unsullied who didn't even react to their presence.

"It is kind of you to set all of this up for us, however I'm sure you have many questions for us, just as we have for you."

"Heh…that is very true." The man's gaze drifted to the baskets the handmaidens help, the dragons heads resting on the edges and curiously looking about. "I thought they were simply large lizards, but they truly are dragons. Is it true they were reborn on the dawn of your husband's funeral when the red comet arrived? I have only heard rumors of their…rebirth."

Daenerys was silent at first as he picked out some of the spiced meat for her 'children', the creatures gobbling up the food when offered to them. "That tale would be true. I still wonder what caused their eggs to hatch that night, be it the witch who burned for betraying me or the red comet that has been crossing the sky."

"Indeed it is curious." Pyat muttered, his sharp gaze set on the dragons with studious interest. "Perhaps a combination of both? Sadly if my order had been there to bear witness we would have a clear answer."

At this point Ciri spoke up. "That makes me curious Pyat. Just what are the warlocks capable of? I've heard plenty of rumors about your group, some claiming your simply illusionists and others as frauds."

Despite the rude claim, the pale skinned man kept that formal smile. "It is true that the Warlocks image has…waned over the years. Only the wisdom and great leadership of the Grand Warlock has kept our order intact. Perhaps you two may seek his knowledge about dragon-kind if you are allowed to stay in Qarth."

The mention of the Grand Warlock did draw curious looks from the two women, since they didn't even know the Warlocks had any leadership. Even Jorah seemed a bit surprise with that detail. "We will take that into consideration Pyat. Perhaps it would be best we ask Master Xaro about such an arrangement." Dany's gaze would settle on the regal merchant lord.

With attention shifted back to him, the dark-skinned man grinned softly. "Yes, it is best we focus on that matter since it will determine the future of both you and your people." He formally stated. "When I spoke to the Thirteen of letting you into the city they had a quite…negative reaction if I put it in polite terms."

"Let me guess, they didn't want a beggar queen and dirty Dothraki to stay within their lavish city?" Ciri remarked in a jesting manner.

"That would be correct. However unlike the rest of the council I see you as a potential ally in the near future, especially now that I see your situation isn't as bleak. Between dragons being real and the reveal of your sister Vaera, it shows you have surprising strengths about you." He'd pause for a moment, his calculating gaze set on Ciri now. "I am curious to know your full story Vaera. Afterall you carry yourself more as a sellsword than a more traditional woman. It would be best that I know your history before I explain the terms of my hospitality."

The Witcheress shifted to sit up straight on the large pillow she sat on, knowing it was time for her to put her cover story to the test. "You can say my upbringing was different than most, even with my unique heritage." She calmly explained. "It be best I start at the beginning with my mother Shana Goodbrook, who was a handmaiden to my father's wife Rhaella. While House Goodbrook was a minor family, their close ties with the Targaryens ensured wealth and stability…at least until what happened to my mother."

"Considering how King Aerys seemed…troubled in those years, I can imagine a few possible outcomes." Xaro commented.

"Mother only told me on her deathbed on what happened, about how Aerys encountered her in the hall just as she was finished preparing the queen's room. He…thought she was her and pressed himself onto her, which in fear she yielded." Ciri glanced away, acting in discomfort on the subject. "The queen did stumble onto them and despite knowing how her husband wasn't of sound mind, threatened my mother to leave King's Landing that night."

"Quite the dire situation."

Ciri nodded before continuing. "At first mother hoped she wouldn't bare a child, yet the signs showed. Her father, Lord Lymond, had conflicting thoughts about this yet he had her bare me in the end. That was at least two years before the Rebellion. When the conflict was leaning towards Robert's favor, he used what ties he had in Essos to get a small home for her in Pentos with her pretending to be the wife of a merchant friend of his."

"It is a strange twist of fate isn't it?" Dany remarked with a small smile. "Both of us being forced into exile to protect ourselves. It shows how small differences can lead to different outcomes."

"Fate and destiny works in mysterious ways." Quaithe calmly stated, the masked woman's unblinking gaze locked on Ciri which made her shift a bit in discomfort.

"So what happened after the Targaryen's were overthrown? Obviously you and your mother couldn't return."

"You'd be correct. With the defeat of the royal family we were also cut us off from the rest of House Goodbrook. My mother struggled to keep our home since her father couldn't pay for us anymore. She picked up skills in trading and street-smarts, more unusual skills considering her upbringing. She taught me as much as she could when I was quite young, knowing I would have to rely on myself before anything else." She'd give a sigh, acting as if remembering those days. "When she got sick, nothing seemed to work, making me think poison was involved. I must have only been eleven at the time when she told me everything about who I was and my father. With her gone, our merchant caretaker was ready to take whatever was left for himself…even planned to sell me off to Robert for a possible reward. He thought I was naïve and helpless, but that changed when he had a knife between his ribs."

The cold manner she spoke about this 'killing' had Xaro pale slightly, even more with the sharp gleam in her eyes. "Then you ran off on your own?"

Ciri nodded. "I cut my hair back and took whatever money and supplies I could carry. Decided to roam the Free Cities posing as a boy and learning whatever I could to survive, from thievery to fighting. By the time I was sixteen I was running with a few minor mercenary companies, though when I reached eighteen it was hard to keep my gender hidden. Did get accepted by the Ragged Standard and worked with them until I heard about half a year ago about Daenerys being married off to Khal Drogo." She'd glance at Dany, a small smirk on her face. "I was off in Braavos at the time, dropped everything I was doing and rushed off to track her down. When I learned she had disappeared into the Red Wastes I spent all my coin just to be supplied enough to help both her and her people survive."

"We would have lost so many if it wasn't for her. That act alone gave me so much faith towards her, along with the fact she knew things only another Targaryen would know." Dany added with a warm smile, placing one hand on top of Ciri's in a kind gesture.

"It sounds almost like a tale from legends, two sisters of the same family, separated and raised so differently only to come together in a time of crisis." Xaro mused. "With someone of your skills and experience, the Khaleesi will have someone she can fully trust in her endeavors." The merchant lord seemed to believe that grand tale, showing that the two women's act had paid off.

"So with that tale finished, may we at last learn what are the terms of being let into Qarth?" Ciri at last questioned.

Xaro nodded, guessing the matter had been delayed long enough. "Because the Thirteen couldn't vote in favor of allowing you into the city, I decided to take a personal rite to taking you in." He'd raise his left hand, undoing a bandaged wrap around his wide palm to reveal a healing scar across the dark skin. "I involved Soumai, a blood oath on my honor to take you into my home and care…that is if you accepted it."

The name of the rite had both Ciri and Dany looking to Jorah who seemed to recognize it's name. "It is a serious matter to involve Soumai. To take it puts one's honor on the line."

"As for the terms of your stay, I simply wish to have a part in your ambitions in retaking the Iron Throne. You need allies after all and I can offer much." Xaro stated.

"You'd go that far for a chance to simply serve in my court?" Dany questioned.

"No…what I desire is something greater." A small sly smile hinted his lips. "I would seek your hand in marriage."

The bold claim took Dany by surprise, yet Ciri had suspected as much from the man. It made sense to make such a demand since anyone of his standing could gain much in marrying Daenerys, the chance of co-ruling the Seven Kingdoms and access to the last dragons in the known world. She wanted to advise Dany from hastily accepting this, even Jorah seemed on edge to speak out. However both knew that the young Targaryen needed to be in the leading role and not hanging on the word of her advisors.

"That…is quite the request Lord Xaro." She muttered after a long moment of thought. "My heart is still heavy with the loss of my beloved Drogo, someone who will forever carry my affection." Taking a sigh, she'd continue to speak. "I will not rush into marriage, but I will give you a chance to prove yourself of earning that honor.

The response was quite the powerful one, showing her independence and sense of values to the merchant noble. Xaro stared at her, both hands clasped together over his mouth as he was in deep thought. "I have misjudged you Khaleesi, you are far stronger then I thought." He complimented with a small smile. "If I am to win the honor of marrying you I will earn it. Spend a month and a day within my household. Let me show you that my character, wealth and influence will be worthy to you." Shifting forward, he'd offer a hand for her to shake in agreement to this deal.

Dany stared at the offered handing, thinking over the man's confident words. In the end she'd reach out and grasp his large hand as best as she could to shake it. "We will see Xaro, yet no matter what I thank you deeply for your kindness on this day."

"Excellent Khaleesi." Letting go of her hand, Xaro relaxed back in his seat. "When will your people be ready to leave then? It be best we return to Qarth as soon as possible."

"Two days be enough to organize our supplies. With the pack animals and storage you have, it will be easy for us to gather everything we need." Jorah answered, having the best knowledge on the matter.

"Then my party will remained camped here in that time." The merchant lord replied. "Still I'd welcome you to visit for dinner or perhaps lunch tomorrow. At the least we best begin working on knowing each other and share the unique traditions you will have to deal with in my city."

"I will think on that offer Xaro and send a messenger if I have the time." Dany would then stand up, making everyone follow suit. "Again I thank you for your time." Formal bows were shared as everyone began to file out of the tent. By now the sun was setting low across the arid landscape, casting a lush orange light across the dusty hills and vast desert.

As both groups began to split between the heading to the city gates and to the forming caravan camp, Ciri would pause as he noticed how Quaithe had lingered behind. "A moment of your time Vaera." She calmly spoke.

Glancing to her departing group, she'd slowly approached the masked mystic. "I can spare that time. I must admit, I thought you'd be more involved in this meeting."

"I speak only when it is needed and see myself more as an observer. For me I'm simply an audience to fate itself. You however…are not truly part of its plan."

The statement drew a confused look from Ciri. "I don't understand." She questioned with a small chuckle.

"The path this world follow can not be simply changed by those who live in it Vaera. It takes the hand of someone beyond it to bend it's threads." There was a pause, though despite the mask the woman wore Ciri felt a faint smile was hidden under it. "A daughter of destiny is both bound and unbound by fate. I wonder what the outcome will be."

Being called a 'daughter of destiny' brought a short show of surprise from Ciri, one she quickly hid away. Despite that reaction the woman didn't react or show a change in emotion. "Forgive me if…I don't believe in such claims Quaithe." She muttered. "Now if you excuse me I must reunite with my sister. We have much to discuss." Quickly she'd turn away and hurry to rejoin the others, doing her best not to look back at the mystic who continued to stare at her.

"In time Cirilla." The woman whispered, as she'd turn to follow her own companions to their camp. "In time you will understand…"

…

 **Notice: Its been a crazy winter season for me, but also for a few others. While it is delayed, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the people who went through Hurricane Florence back in September. My editor and friend Rainsfere lost his home in that hurricane yet has thankfully recovered since that disaster.**

 **That aside I'd also like to thank all my subscribers. We've reached 1,500+ members this year, which is quite amazing to me! This has been a slow year for writing, but I hope the quality in writing and storytelling makes up for the wait. As a an early new year's gift I'll at give a title drop for the next chapter, 'Silence and Fury'. Again a huge thank you to all and a great New Year!**


	30. S2-E6: Silence and Fury

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Silence and Fury**

 **Forward: As always, credit to Rainsfere for beta reading and edits!**

 **Geralt – The Narrow Sea Coast nearby the Fingers – One day after Ciri meets the Qarthians**

…

It was about a week and a half since the Fury had left Dragonstone and sailed northward along the coastline towards White Harbor. Overall the trip was peaceful thanks to Davos' great knowledge of the sea along with his orderly command of the sailors. During that time Geralt did his best to busy himself around the ship, learning more about sailing beyond his knowledge on small boats. It amazed him how complex the warship was, relying on the full sails for traveling while the oars were for quick bursts of speed and maneuverability in battle. The whole crew required complete coordination to ensure the ship worked effectively, which Stannis and Davos managed in an orderly manner.

Geralt also made sure to check up with the rest of his companions during the voyage. Arya he continued her training, though most of it was simply observing her during sword practice to ensure her safety and correct on her technique. With Sansa he'd chat with every so often along with Barristan who continued to watch over her. Thoros, Syrio and Beric were good company to have during meal times or during training sessions with the other soldiers.

He was eager to meet Robb after so many months to discuss everything that had happened. From his father's death, new role as Warden and now having to work out an alliance with Stannis was obviously a major task for the young man. The outcome would determine both how well the rest of the North would follow his lead along with Stannis would view him. Even if an alliance wasn't forged, there was a chance Robb could at least earn the respect of stern king.

"Just wish we where there to get it all over with…" He muttered as he left the crew deck, heading up to the top deck to get an idea on their location. It had been clear weather for the last few days and it seemed such conditions would exist for the remainder of the voyage. The crew was relaxed currently, doing simple tasks across the deck and making sure the sails were properly set. His gaze did focus west towards the distant cliff riddled shoreline. The coastline was a mix of thin peninsulas that created bays that lead into distant rivers that flowed out from the mountainous Vale. The Witcher's attention moved to the wheel of the ship where Davos was, the gruff captain calmly guiding the ship on a steady course. Thoros and Beric were nearby, with the minor lord peering through a spyglass aimed to the top of the cliffs. The two were muttering to each other, only pausing when Thoros noticed Geralt approaching them.

"Doing some sightseeing?' Geralt sarcastically questioned, drawing a smirk from the Red Priest.

"In a manner of speaking."

Beric nodded as he'd lower the spyglass. "Scouting would be a more proper term. I'm sure you can guess where we are along the Vale coast."

Geralt nodded as he moved to stand along side the two, examining the coastline a bit more closely. "The Fingers. Yeah…and that smallest peninsula I bet is Littlefinger's holding."

"Aye. The 'Drearfort' as some call it in jest." Thoros explained while Beric handed the spyglass over to him.

"Check at the lower cliffs. You can just see the…keep...from this angle." Beric directed.

Looking through the spyglass, he'd quickly notice the grey stone tower that could barely qualify as a noble's home. He did notice that there was construction going about, walls being made and linking structures being made. "Seems Baelish is doing some remodeling as well."

"While a minor lord, his role as Master of Coin and his business dealings give him plenty of funds to spend for himself. I'm certain he plans to strengthen his position since his betrayal of Lord Eddard is known…and makes him one of the North's biggest targets."

"Ugh…Wish we could just sail right over and storm the place! Bastard isn't home but I'd love to see his the look on his slimy face seeing his home as a pile of rocks." Thoros growled, cracking his knuckles in a threatening manner.

"For once I can agree with you Thoros." Davos spoke up from the wheel. "However it will be difficult to reach his holding by shore. The waters closer to the cliffs have many rocks under the surface, making it risky to even lay anchor."

"Also he has close ties to Lady Lysa. Knowing him, he has no doubt requested her to have some Vale Knights on watch. While I doubt she or the Lords of the Vale will remain neutral in the coming conflict, they won't take kindly to us intruding from a warship." Beric also added. "The Vale, if fully mustered, could raise a force close to forty-five thousand along with fielding some of the fiercest cavalry as well."

"If angered they could easily tip the scales of this war." Geralt muttered as he thought over this information. He still had beliefs that Lady Lysa had a hand in killing her husband John Aryn, triggering this long chain of troubling events. For all he knew Littlefinger or Cersei could have fueled her paranoia to commit the assassination for a variety of reasons. "Hopefully we won't provoke the Vale or even get them on our side. As for Littlefinger, his time will come."

Thoros sighed in frustration, yet understood the logic involved. "Hope he's trembling at the thought of us kicking down his door. I'll enjoy the day we grab the bastard."

The Witcher nodded in agreement before moving over to Davos, Thoros and Beric heading below deck for their own late lunch. "So how much longer until we get to White harbor?" Geralt questioned.

"Three or four days I take. Stannis is just as impatient as you." The captain chuckled. "I am trying to stick more to the coast though because of recent news. A lot of bold pirate activity in this stretch of the Narrow Sea."

"What makes that so special?"

"It's because of Braavos. They have a strict policy on who can arrive in their harbor and show no mercy for anyone preying on the trade routes."

"Let me guess, someone has been causing trouble for even their navy."

Davos had a serious look as he nodded. "At least three ships, one even being a merchant lord vessel ferrying his family. All well-armed and manned. What is troubling is the fact there were no survivors."

"Why is that?"

"The whole family is worth a small fortune in ransom alone. The Iron Bank has…well…insurance plans to pay for such matters." Davos explained. "If pirates or privateers capture a valuable hostage, they normally send a notice of ransom. In this case there has been none."

It was odd since even back home he knew even the most bloodthirsty Skelliger raider knew the value of a ransom. "So then who did it then?"

"A demon…someone that I hope by the Seven to never cross paths with." Davos muttered, gripping the wheel tightly. "The fact is the last reported attack was farther out east. Sticking to the coast will give us some distance if this pirate is heading southward and if he does show up the rocky waters will favor us in escaping."

Already he wondered just who this pirate was that had Davos this tense, but he didn't press the matter. "You're the captain, so it is your call. Everyone here trusts your judgement."

The reassuring words had Davos sigh and nodded. "Thank you Geralt." He'd pause in thought for a moment. "There is one matter I'd like your help with though."

"Name it."

"Tonight will be a new moon, so we'll have little natural light. Considering your unique eyesight, perhaps you could man the crows-nest, so we have no surprises."

Nodded in agreement. "Seems sensible. If it will save us time, even better."

"Good. Then I'll see you at the later tonight." Davos replied with a small smile before focusing back on guiding the ship.

The Witcher would walk back to the main section of the deck just as Sansa, Arya and Barristan walked up from below. The eldest Stark daughter was softly chatting with the old knight with a soft smile on her face. Arya was listening in on their conversation, seeming to have a passing interest towards it. Seeing Geralt though brought a smile to her face as she hurried over to him.

"Did you just talk to Davos? Please tell me we're nearly there!" She pleaded.

Sansa sighed after hearing her sister's questioning. "You've asked that question nearly ever day. Its not going to make this ship move any faster."

"She is simply eager to see her brother just as you are Lady Sansa." Barristan politely stated. "Besides, you've spent as many days reviewing over what can happen during the upcoming gathering."

Sansa blushed faintly. "I…I simply wish to be prepared. After all the planning I've done with Stannis, I should still be involved with whatever is discussed with my brother once we're at White Harbor."

"And I can assure you that you're more than ready Lady Sansa." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, calming the young woman.

Arya nodded in agreement. "Just talk back at Stannis like you did before and he'll no doubt listen." She chuckled, reminding everyone of that crucial moment back on Dragonstone.

The praise did bring a soft smile to Sansa, showing how well they had bonded since they left King's Landing. Indeed it was a quite different from their constant arguing and bickering when Geralt had first met them. At this point they truly were following their father's last wishes.

"So Geralt, can you share another story later tonight over dinner?" Arya asked, focusing attention back on the Witcher. "With the ship sailing so smoothly, surely you can't be busy."

"Sadly I am. Davos asked me to be on night watch up above, doesn't want to run aground in these rough waters." He answered back, excluding the rumored talk of pirates. "I promise though tomorrow night we'll have time." He'd pause in thought for a moment. "Have one book even I haven't read yet, something Shireen gave me back at Dragonstone."

"Oh! I bet it's good if she chose it!" Arya remarked excitedly.

"We'll see. Just promise me you'll behave until then. No more climbing the rig or mast like yesterday alright?"

"It was impressive seeing you do that Arya, but you nearly had Barristan ready to chase after you. Don't stress the good knight any further." Sansa jested.

"That is a bit harsh Lady Sansa." Barristan replied, though had a small grin of amusement. "You forget I've scaled castle walls barehanded. A ship's rigging would be simple."

"Maybe you should be listening to his tales more." Geralt muttered to Arya before speaking out to all three. "Just take it easy for tonight. I'm sure you both want decent sleep for once." Even with all the time the two Starks had been at sea, they had a hard time getting use to sleeping on a ship.

"A fair point Geralt. We'll be sure to sleep early when we can." Sansa said in agreement.

"Then we best not bother Ser Geralt any further. He no doubt needs rest for tonight." Barristan gave a short nod to the Witcher. "Until next time."

Nodding back, he watched as the three moved on towards Davos at the wheel, Arya giving a parting wave to him. Giving a short wave back, he'd head down the stairs to lower decks. Since the ship didn't have a full set of officers, he had one of the small cabins to himself. Cramped, but private at the least. Shifting though a chest of his belongings, he'd sort out a few of his alchemical tools. Davos had him a bit paranoid about trouble showing up, so he'd pack away plenty of his handcrafted flares, grapeshot bombs and a few dancing star bombs.

"Never hurts to be prepared." He muttered to himself as he hung the pack nearby the rest of his gear before laying down on his bunk, sighing as he'd relax back to nap the next few hours away.

…

With the sun setting low, Geralt got up from bed to get fully dressed. Changing into Witcher armor, strapping both swords along his back, slipped Dragon Fang on one hip while his alchemy pack on the other. By the time he walked up to the deck, the darkness of the coming night was spreading. Already the crew was getting lanterns set up to luminate the waters surrounding the ship. With what remaining sunlight, he could see a spreading mist across the water.

"Strange weather…" He muttered, before noticing Davos approaching him, having given a navigator the wheel.

"To you perhaps." The sea captain remarked. "While Westeros summers keep even the coastal oceans warm, the waters further north obviously become cooler."

"Right. Warm and cold-water mix, along with the rise and setting of the sun, leading to foggy conditions." Geralt finished after a moment of thought.

"Exactly." The two moved towards the main mast just as the last watchman was climbing down the ladder leading to the crowsnest. "So a quick run down about the signal bell at the top. Two rings if you see rocks ahead. Three rings if any signs of a ship. All trade and transport ships from both continents are expected to have lanterns on during night travel."

"So let's say I notice a ship with no lanterns on?"

"Ring the bell like hell. Even if a pirate ship or two notices us, I doubt they'd be crazy to attack a war ship."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "Just hope you didn't jinx us than." Moving to the mast ladder, he'd begin the climb. "Hopefully we'll talk again over breakfast."

"Heh, gladly. Until later Geralt." Davos moved off to his cabin, no doubt needing some sleep after guiding the ship for half a day.

After a long climb up to the to top of the mast, Geralt watched the last hints of sunlight truly fade across the sea. Standing up, he'd take a deep breath as the sea air rushed around him, showing just how fast the Fury was going. He'd focus his gaze eastward to open water, the horizon seeming clear for the moment. Already the nighttime mist was thickening, which combined with the dark water made it difficult to see far even with his naturally enhanced sight.

"Guess I'll be sipping on Cat for the whole night." He muttered, taking out the small potion bottle which he took a sip from. While the vision empowering mixture was one of the least toxic potions he had, it's sickly sweet flavor made him cringe. A pulsing sensation began at his temples before moving through his head until reaching his eyes. Closing them tightly, he grunted in minor discomfort before snapping his eyes open. The cat like pulps had widened out, his eyesight now as sharp as a werecat's in these night time conditions. "Much better." He sighed, rubbing the side of his head as the small aching faded away. Leaning against the edge of the crowsnest, he'd stare northward and begin his long watch for the night.

…

A few hours passed without any real issues, except for the a few occasions having to ring the bell for coastal rocks. By now the mist had settled into quite a thick layer across the sea, enough to even limit the improved sight Cat offered him. It seemed though they were in the clear, giving the Witcher some time to think.

"Heh…by now Yen would have come up for a visit if she was here. Never could resist cozying up on nights like this." He chuckled to himself, thinking about the sorceress after so long. If she had somehow traveled with him to this world he was sure she'd cause quite some trouble with her fierce personality and sly cunning. "For once I'd love to have a portal on hand as well. Save everyone a lot of time…" In fact he was pretty sure just her power alone could end the war easily, though dwelling on such possibilities was pointless.

However, Geralt stopped his silent musings when he heard something…odd. It was a low splashing sound, as if there was something jumping in and out of the water. It was hard to pick out among the blowing wind, flapping sails and the creaking of the ship. Closing his eyes, he entered a light meditation to shut out distracting noises and try to pick out the splashing sound. It became clearer now, a steady constant splashing coming from the north…almost like rowing. "That better not be what I'm thinking…" Snapping his eyes open, those cat-like eyes narrowing to try seeing through the thick mist and black water.

At last he saw them, two small long boats with their sails rolled up, both quickly and silently moving forward with oars. He had been studying on Westeros's types of ships and knew these were the type used by the Iron Islanders, this continent's most fierce sea raiders. The two ships were angled to each side of the ship, meaning when they rammed they'd sandwich the Fury between them. While he doubted either ship could cause a breach in the hull, such a maneuver would limit the ship's turning movement and make it easier to board.

Quickly he grabbed the bell rope, ringing it rapidly while yelling out. "PIRATES! STARBOARD AND PORT BOW! BRACE FOR RAMMING!" Already the crew was yelling out and readying themselves, just as the ship shook from the impact. Despite the shuffle, Geralt didn't hesitate as he grabbed out flares from his pack, aiming and firing them off high into the air. The night sky lit red as the burning flares drifted down, fully revealing the raider ships grinding along the sights of the Fury's reinforced haul. The raider ships decks and haul were painted black, further explaining how they were able to avoid even his enhanced sight.

"Their grappling their ships to the Fury! Cut them loose!" Someone below yelled as the clamor of battle quickly filled the air.

Geralt to make out figures from the raider ships latched hooked rope lines across the side of the war galley before climbing up. His sharp eyes could tell these weren't normal pirates but Ironborn raiders. It would explain the choice of longboats and focus on boarding, seeking to capture the ship instead of simply plundering it.

However, the Witcher's focus shifted as a bellowing horn rang out behind the Fury. Soon lights lit up in the darkness further south, revealing a larger black long ship, no doubt the flagship of the other two. Along with it's lanterns lit, the larger ship also dropped its black sail with golden squid adorning it with it's tentacles outstretched. Its oars out stretched from it's sides as a low drumming filled the air, the ship quickly building up speed to close the distance.

"Bastards planned this well." Geralt cursed, mind already rapidly trying to think of a plan. He looked back northward to see that to the northwest there was a cluster of coastal rocks revealed by the flare light. While hazardous, it was a perfect route to shake off the Ironborn raiders before they completely overwhelmed the ship.

"Just need to get down quickly." Looking about, he'd see one of the rope lines that connected between the sail and deck level. "Time to improvise…" Climbing down the mast ladder slightly, he'd reach for the rope line and zipline down it. Even with his toughened leather gloves his hand got heated by the friction. From his vantage point he could see his companions busy fighting the pirates along side the crew. He saw that Syrio was holding off three of the raiders, his agile dueling skills baffling his enemies who never faced against the Water Dance. Seeing one pirate rushing in at the man's flank, Geralt let go of the rope line, drawing his steel sword mid-fall. His metal heeled boots slammed into the man's back, ending with a painful crunch as the raider was crushed to the deck.

"Heh…Geralt. Always with a flare for the dramatic." The Braavosi chuckled as they were back to back, two pirates closing in on the Witcher.

"Not by choice." He grumbled back before one pirate yelled, the group charging at them while the Witcher and fencer were a blur of motion. Geralt at last could really hold nothing back, since this wasn't a completion like the Melee or facing soldiers simply following orders. These were ruthless killers who wouldn't hesitate to kill him or his friends. The first raider to reach him didn't even have time to blink as the Witcher slashed out diagonally. Mutant strength and enchanted steel cleaved the man in half, which to any nearby onlookers was shocking to behold. Geralt didn't pause after that kill though, lunging at the other raider to sink his sword right into his lower gut, blade rising slightly a twisting to ensure a lethal wound. The attack was so fast that the pirate only began to cry out in pain as the Witcher drew his blade back.

Syrio could focus didn't let the gruesome kills distract him as he took advantage of his startled foes. One raider was choking on blood as the fine rapier pierced right into his throat, the weapon quickly whipping out before parrying a hurried sword blow from the dying man's companion. Redirecting the man's momentum, he made him stumble into the third raider and get a club blow to the side of the head. The fencer stabbed the dazed raider in the back, rapier even piercing into the other man he cried out in surprised.

With their current enemies dead or dying, Geralt quickly faced the duelist. "Where's Stannis and Davos?" He spoke out over the chaos.

"The main cabin! Stannis called for a meeting-" Syrio started before cursing as another raider interrupting him as he rushed in to attack.

The flow of raiders seemed endless as another wave was climbing up the grapple lines set on both sides of the ship. Among the battling he could make out Thoros who was roaring out fiercely. The man's fury was making even the Iron Islanders running in fear. Considering his reputation during the Ironborn Rebellion it was easy to understand their terror.

"Keep them away from the hatches and the helm!" Stannis's voice rang out, the man standing by the wheel. The Baratheon had quickly gotten his breastplate on along with arming himself sturdy shield and sword, taking lead in commanding the crew. Beric was close by, ensuring the line of men kept the invaders from climbing the steps up to the helm with Davos at the wheel.

Geralt was already on the move to reach them, dodging about both friend and foe. Whenever he crossed a pirate he'd lash out with a quick backhand or shoulder tackle, enough to catch them off guard for a crewmen to cut down. He soon reached the helm, Beric and Stannis quickly approaching him.

"Where is Arya and Sansa?" The Witcher quickly questioned before either man could speak first.

Beric gave a short nod downward. "They were below deck when the attack happened, in their room I believe. Barristan is with them, so they should be safe…even though the old knight be a boon for this battle."

Geralt relaxed slightly knowing the girls were safe, though he did silently agree with Beric.

"Then we'll have to make do with you and the others, Witcher.." Stannis muttered, no doubt seeing him partly at fault in not seeing the raiders sooner.

"Not the best time to argue on that Lord Stannis." Beric quickly remarked in the Witcher's defense. "Right now we have to get our ship loose before-"

Geralt suddenly moved though, shoving past the two lords and quickly made the Aard Sign. He focused on a wide arc as the burst of air knocked the incoming arrows from the chasing ship clatter harmlessly to the deck. With the danger past he dropped the barrier before looking back at everyone gawking at what had just happen. It took a lot of the Witcher's discipline to not try and smirk as even Stannis stoic expression was gone for a short moment

"Well…was hoping for a better time to explain that." Geralt muttered as everyone quickly composed themselves.

"More secrets and surprises." Stannis sighed, but seemed thankful for the protection. "Whatever the case, I can tell you have a plan in mind."

"A reckless one, but it should get rid of this scum for sure." Geralt then looked to Beric. "I need you get those ballista ready on the starboard side. Focus on the ones we have secure around the helm."

"Why? With the ship so close we can't…" Realization then kicked in, the man giving a small grin and nodding. "I understand. Alright men, lets get those weapons loaded!" Gesturing about, he got the trained crewmen hurrying to the mounted weapons.

Next, the Witcher looked to Davos. "This part will sound insane, but we need to head to those coastal rocks northwest." The lingering light from the flares still showed pillars of weathered stone, their positioning requiring timed maneuverers to get through unscathed. "I need you to take the ship through there."

Davos paled hearing those words, hands gripping the wheel tightly as he stared into that direction. "It's madness." Pausing in thought though, he'd glance back at the nearing long boat chasing them, knowing full well they couldn't outrun it in open water. "No you're right. It is the best approach."

"You certain you can do it." Stannis calmly questioned.

"Aye. I escaped this devil once, I can do it again!"

Geralt nodded, glad the sea captain had renewed confidence before looking back at Stannis. "Then leave the left ship to me. We'll draw the raiders off from that side so you can deal with the right ship." Taking out more flares, he'd fire them off towards the rocks to ensure Davos had a clear view on his route and lighting up across the decks of the ships. Without another word, he vaulted over the railing at the helm and back onto the deck, giving a jaw cracking punch to one pirate he startled. "THOROS!"

The yell made the Red Priest roar out among the battle, followed by one raider being thrown overboard by the unseen warrior. Seemed he could hear him fine despite the chaos all around them.

"STARBOARD SIDE! JUMP OVERBOARD!" With that order given, he rushed in that direction. Along the way he'd land a quick slash across the back of one raider and knock over another with a clothesline arm blow. Nearing the side of the Fury, four more pirates were climbing up the grapple lines. Before they could even raise their weapons, Geralt thrusted his left hand forward and unleashed an Aard that flung the men violently backwards, one even falling into the dark water. He rushed on without hesitation, leaping over the side and having a rolling landing across the longship deck. Flowing his momentum, he was back on his feet to face off against six more Ironborn.

"Beastly here must be suicidal, coming onto our ship!" One laughed out.

"Wait, it's the freak on the wanted poster! The Witcher!" Another snapped.

"Aye! Twenty thousand crowns! Come on lads let-" Yet the raider didn't get to finish his order as a flaming blade pierced right through his chest, making him give a garbled howl as clothing and flesh was set alight.

Withdrawing the blade, he'd roughly throw the man into the mast with a resounding slam, spreading the fire across the toughened wood. "Heh and you think I'd let the Witcher steal all the fun!?"

Geralt took advantage of the surprise Thoros gave as he unleashed Igni onto the group. The wide burst of flame lit up their clothes and sheered bare skin, the men screaming and flailing to bat out the flames. Their burning attacks were quickly drawing the rest of the crew's attention, the Ironborn pirates yelling out for water to put out the spreading flames. A dozen of the raiders surrounded the two, giving the men on the Fury breathing space and a chance to cut away those grapple lines.

"Intro the fray as always." Thoros challenged as he grabbed a fallen raider shield, giving himself a little more defense against so many foes.

Geralt gave a small chuckle and nod of agreement. "Seems that is what we do best."

"KILL THE FREAKS!" Someone in the mob yelled, the rest charging at the fearsome duo as one. Thoros gave a terrifying yell which made the men reaching for him flinch, letting them lash out with both shield and burning blade. One pirate got his nose caved in as the edge of the shield drove into his face while another close by was slashed across the chest, screaming as he was set aflame. The Red Priest's aggressive style outmatched even the dreaded Ironborn, showing just how he became so infamous back during their Rebellion.

Geralt in turn was busy with his own wave of foes, quickly making the Quen Sign, making a shimmer course along his body. He'd twist about pirouette, dealing out a beheading blow against the unfortunate raider who reached him first. The attack did leave him exposed, which was why he had casted Quen beforehand. Three raiders struck at him, only to scream out as the shimmering barrier shocked them with stunning energy. With adrenaline driving him on he'd then flow into a partial whirl, forcing most of the raiders back. The three stunned by his magical shield were cut down in that spinning attack, steel blade dicing across two of the men's chest and the third having a whole forearm cleaved off. With the few seconds he had, he'd drop down an Yrden Sign across the ground, the wide magical circle slowing the Ironborn to a snail's pace. He lunged in at one slowed raider, giving a rib cracking punch to the gut and a powerful kick at another's leg which buckled in an unnatural manner.

"THEY'RE FUCKING DEMONS!" Someone among the panicking raiders yelled out as the men at this point were trying to get away. Between the two warrior's merciless fighting and the Witcher's show of magic, the raiders confidence quickly broke. Many jumped overboard, desperate enough to try swimming in the dark water towards the chasing flagship or risk swimming for the distant shore. Considering the reputation the Ironborn had with swimming, that was a likely possibility.

Both men looked about at the carnage they had unleashed, the sight even surprising for Geralt. "I think we over did it…" He muttered as the ship creaked from the fires spreading across it. "Just need to get the lower decks and then we should be good."

Thoros gave a growling sigh, calming down as he'd march over to one of the hatches leading below. "Ugh…locked. A few below must have locked it up." He cursed as both hands gripped the metal handles, the man grunting as he began to yank with all his might.

"Better hurry. We're getting close to those rocks." Geralt warned as he took out a Dancing Star bomb from his tool pack.

The Red Priest growled out, a tense expression on his face as the wooden hatch began to tear back. At last a hinge gave way to snap one side of the hatch open, only for a spear to lunge out from the gape. Despite the surprise, Thoros was just able to turn his body to avoid getting the spear tip shoved into his chest, the weapon driving into his right shoulder instead. Biting back the pain, he gripped the spear shaft and yanked it forward, slamming the raider's head into the half-ripped hatch. "Sneaky bastard!" He followed up with a kick to the man's face, a resounding snap showing he broke it completely. "Throw it in!"

Geralt didn't hesitate as he sparked the bomb before chucking it into the opening the Red Priest had made. A few seconds later there was a blast followed by panicked yells as the fire bomb exploded.

"Witcher! Get back on quick!" Beric yelled from the Fury. The Witcher could see the crew quickly cutting away the grapple lines keeping the ship in place.

Both he and Thoros rushed to one of the hanging lines and began the short climb up onto the warship. Nearing the deck though he heard Thoros grunt out, looking back to see he had lost his grip with his right hand thanks to the injury on his shoulder. At the same moment the Fury rocked roughly as the longship was cut loose, making the man lose his grip The Witcher was quick and flexible enough to reach one hand down to grab the man's left arm. "Got you!"

The priest panted as he did stare at the black water below him, seeming nervous for once. However it was short lived as he'd swing his right arm back to grip the rope line, pulling himself all the way up to the deck. The crew above helped tug them both up, letting them watch as the burning raider ship was drifting off towards a nearby rock formation.

"Let them have it!" With that order given by Stannis, the powerful crack and creak of the Fury's ballista filled the air. An aimed barrage striked below the water line, piecing holes for water to flow in. With whatever drifting movement the ship had, it's soon crash into the rocks, spinning and turning it about while the fires and leaks began to slowly sink it.

"What about the other one?" Geralt asked as they crossed to the other side of the Fury, noticing how the other longship was still attached by a few lines.

"Stannis had a cunning idea in mind for this one." Beric said, approaching the group. He looked roughed up but unharmed by the looks of it. "Killed or captured most of the crew. We plan to cut it loose right before we enter the rock reefs, try to stop or slow down the last ship."

"Smart idea." The Witcher's attention moved back to the helm to see Stannis overlooking the aftermath of the battle and the looming rocks ahead. It seemed he taken part in the fighting considering the minor injuries he had, expected considering his reputation of directly leading.

"At the point of no return you grace." Davos muttered, giving a concerned look as the leading longboat was getting close to them.

Stannis didn't respond beyond a short nod, gaze set on the broad rocky formation on the Fury's right side. "At the ready men…" There was a tense pause as the crewmembers at the grapple lines ready their axes. "Cut it loose!"

The men gave a roar before slamming down their axes, snapping the lines at once. Everyone braced as the Fury shook as the longboat was freed. Stannis' timing was perfect as the mix of the currents and the Fury's speed made the raider ship crash it's right side into the rocks. The forceful impact crushing half of the ship before it shifted about. As the Fury sailed past the wreck, the current made it turn about to partly block the way for the flagship.

The crew cheered seeing ship destroyed, but it was short lived as Stannis yelled out. "We're not safe yet! Get the sail raised up now, we need to slow down and rely on the oars! Maneuverability is what we need!"

The crew was quick to obey Stannis's orders as they rushed about. The hatches were opened up for extra men to head down below along with to take in the injured among them. Geralt, Thoros and Beric rejoined at the helm where they also found Syrio who was catching his breath after fighting for so long.

"Heh! Seems you outdid yourself Braavosi!" Thoros chuckled out. "Guess you're not as soft as I thought."

Despite being exhausted, the duelist couldn't help but smirk in amusement, yet didn't have the energy to give a witty remark back.

Geralt moved to stand beside Davos as the ship was now coursing through the hazardous coastline. Looking at the sea captain, he never saw the man have such a serious or focused look as he'd make steady and calculated turns with the ship's wheel. "The rocks here make the current strong." He muttered. "Hope you have a few more of those flares Witcher. I need as much light as possible."

"Have only a few left. Hopefully that will be enough." Taking them out, he'd take aim and fire them out to light up the area.

"It will." Davos paused as he'd look at rock formations that were in their way. "Seven give me strength…" He muttered before yelling out. "Everyone brace! Oarsmen, hard starboard! Put your backs into it!" Below deck the muffled yell of the men could be heard, showing they understood their orders. The oars extended out from the right side, sinking into the dark water to help steer the ship. Davos turned the wheel hard to the right while everyone braced themselves as the Fury turned. It was a tense moment as the ship drifting close to one rock, but the maneuver was a success.

Geralt did glance back to see the longboat wasn't following them, seeming to be slowing to a stop before the reefs. Their risky gambit had at least thrown off the mysterious leader of the pirates.

"Hard port! We're nearly through lads!" Davos yelled out, snapping the Witcher's attention to the front. Their last obstacle was a large split between two rocks, requiring careful direction to avoid drifting into the side of either formation. "Brace!" Again everyone held on as the oars and Davos turning of the wheel shifted the ship sharply. "Balance us out starboard! Even us out!" Both sides of the ship worked together, the chants of heave and hoe as the men below put their full might to work. The looming rocks neared, the ship properly aligned as they sped between them and back into open water. Davos gave a deep sigh, bowing his head in relief as everyone onboard cheer out at their success.

Stannis moved close to the sea captain, a faint smile hinting his face as he clapped Davos on the shoulder. "Great work captain."

"Thank the men below. They put in the real effort." He chuckled back, humble as ever.

"Still it was your direction that got us through. Guess the talk of Lord Davos captaining reputation is well earn." Geralt remarked. "Still I want to know one thing, just who were those pirates? You mentioned them before and it's obvious they had viciousness and cunning to attack a military ship."

Davos seemed hesitant to speak, so Stannis in turn spoke up. "The flagship that pursued us was that of Euron Greyjoy or better known by his pirate title as Crow's Eye." He coldly explained. "He's the closest thing to a living devil in this world. Merciless, deceitful and having not a care for human life." The Baratheon paced to the rear of the helm, gazing back to the rocky reefs they had just escaped through. "He must have known of us carrying the Stark daughters somehow. Their capture would be quite the prize and further whatever schemes he has…or simply use them for his sick amusements."

The Witcher was silent as he stood by Stannis, realizing just how dangerous this pirate was. "Whatever the case, this is a victory for us. He's lost two ships and their crews."

"Aye." Stannis looked back as his men were busy rounded up the pirates who were captured or mercy killing those too injured to survive. "We'll have those judged later tomorrow." Moving back to the front of the helm he spoke out. "Get all our injured care for at once! I want our most able men to be on watch until the late morning." With those commands given everyone dispersed to rest, manage around the ship or tend to their injuries.

"We best rest while we can Witcher." Thoros remarked, having gotten his shoulder bandaged up during the moment of peace. "Especially you. Considering you were showing off your…abilities…you no doubt have a lot of explaining to do for Stannis."

Geralt sighed in agreement, hoping he could avoid any complications with Stannis. Right now he couldn't let this reveal damage the trust he had built up with aspiring king. Despite the fierce battle, Geralt didn't feel tired because of the adrenaline lingering within him and from not even getting injured in the chaos. Walking to the back of the helm, he stared out into the distance, the remarks from both Stannis and Davos making him wonder just how monstrous this Euron truly was.

…

 **Euron Greyjoy – The Silence**

The first mate watched as the mute crewmembers fished out another Ironborn from the water, another survivor of their failed attack. Right now they were trying to salvage as much as they could from their destroyed ships, be it supplies or survivors the warship had left being. "It should have worked. We had every advantage." The gruff Lysene man muttered as he brushed one hand nervously across his beard, worried about how his captain will react. "Going to be a lot of tongues cut out…that is for sure." He muttered as he pace along the longboat deck, making his way to the helm.

Being hesitant to approach, he watched the Ironborn captain as he tried to get an idea on his mood…though even after his year serving Euron, he learned it that was impossible to do. The Greyjoy was a dashing and handsome sight, pale skinned with flowing set of hair and full well-trimmed beard that was as dark as night. One of his eyes were covered by a fine dark leather eyepatch, his renown 'crow-eye' which was said to be reserved for those he personally killed. Some said it contains the man's pure malice and to gaze into it would doom one's soul. His normal eye however was a gleaming sky blue, which currently had a relaxed look to it. One stranger quality about him though was his lips which were a faint pale blue color. The first mate heard it was because of an elixir wine the captain often drank, which was said to grant prolonged life and foresight. His choice of attire was that Stepstone pirate style, a high collared oily black captain coat covering a grey button up sailor's shirt, covering a compact muscular body.

"Captain Euron…we're collecting the last of our men from the attack." The first mate muttered, at last approaching the man.

Euron didn't speak, just having one hand gently turn the wheel. From the compass set on the helm it showed they were angling for a southern direction, returning to their original course. His sky-blue eye looked to the first mate, that calm look seeming so…bored despite how he has lost two ships along with half of their crews.

The uncertainty had the first mate gulp, tensing up slightly. "The…survivors can confirm though that the ship was indeed the Fury and manned by Stannis."

"Obviously." Euron simply stated, voice smooth but having a hinted threat to it. "It seems old Stannis plans to bargain with the young Robb Stark. Playing ferrymen for honorable Ned's fair young daughters." His fingers patted along one handle of the wheel, pausing in thought. "He's rushing for a strong army. With the backing of the Northerners and his powerful ships, King's Landing will be plowed by the sea."

The first mate nodded, finding the deduction fitting. Before he could comment, he noticed one of the Silence crewmembers giving out a loud grunt and waving to them. Hurrying back to the deck, he was gestured to one crewmember who was injured with quite a fierce burn across the right side of his face. "I need to speak to…ugh…the captain…" He grunted, gritting his teeth through the pain.

"The fire and sea must have rotted that brain of yours! No one can demand to speak to the captain!" The first mate growled, grasping the man by the collar, shoving him back against the edge of the ship as he seemed ready to throw him back overboard.

"Bring him up." The simple order made the two look to the helm, Euron nodding to them. "I'm curious to hear what this one has to say."

The Lysene sighed before letting the man go, though gave him a firm shove to stagger him forward to the wheel. "Alright say what you have to say raider." He ordered as the approached the Greyjoy.

Being up close to the captain did make the burned pirate nervous, but he'd compose himself after a tense moment. "There was someone special on that ship. The man the Lannisters have a fortune of a bounty on." He muttered. "Skin and hair pale as a ghost…eyes of a beast…and with two gleaming swords at his back."

An excited spark hinted Euron's eye with this news. "So he was there. My eye didn't deceive me." Giving out a whistle, hurried feet followed as a helmsmen approached. It showed just how obedient and loyal the Greyjoy's personal crew was to his demands. "Keep to the original course." With the order given, he'd gesture for the raider and first mate to follow him to the deck. "I did watch the battle partly with my spyglass. But tell me…just how many did this Witcher kill?"

"I…I didn't keep count. Just on my ship it must have been close maybe even more than a dozen." The raider muttered between short winces. "That man was a blur but…he did unnatural things as well."

"Huh magic?" The first mate scoffed, though quickly silenced himself as Euron glanced at him.

"What else would you call shooting flames from your hand…or flinging four armored men across a whole deck with a gesture!"

"Interesting…very interesting." A wide grin hinted the Greyjoy's face as he stared into one of the large braziers they used to light up the deck, seeming to imagine the Witcher's magic in action. "I was worried this stranger would be boring. Just another skilled swordsman…which the world has no shortage of." Both hands clasped behind his back, thinking for a moment. "Helmsmen! When we pass Blackwater bay change the course eastward for King's Landing."

"Wait what?!" The first mate snapped in shock. "Captain that is insane! We'd have to sneak by both Stannis and whatever ships the Lannisters will have out!"

"True. Stannis patrols will be a risk, but they are predictable." Euron casually dismissed. "However the Lannisters will be more welcoming to us than you think. I believe the wise Tywin will be happy to see us in fact."

At this point the Lysene growled out. "No…I won't let you sail us to a senseless death!" The mix of anger and shock made the man forget just who he was arguing against. The burned raider was backing away from the man, knowing how this would play out. Quickly the first mate grasped for his cutlass, blindly trying to attack his own captain.

Euron was faster though as his right hand reached to grab the first mate by the wrist, making him gasp out as he squeezed at the joint with shocking strength. "Senseless." A single amused chuckle escaped from him. "Everything I do has a purpose. You…and so many others just don't see the motives behind my choices." He'd bend the wrist back, forcing the Lysene into an arm lock as bone started to crack under the focused force he put. "You…my crew…the whole world is meant to serve my urges, whether it wants to or not."

"Damn you Euron…let me…UGHHH!" At that point Euron the man's hand back, breaking the wrist and making the First Mate howling in pain. The crew of the Silence didn't react, while the survivors of the other ships watch at their captain's show of dominance.

"You see in a manner I am a god. The Silence is my realm…where I am untouchable. Whenever my sail is seen, people flee in terror or prey in submission to me." He'd kick the First Mate in the groin, making him double over and fall onto one knee in pain. "Rich, poor, faithful and faithless…they know very well what I can do. For I'm real." His left hand grasped the man's messy brown hair, yanking it back to make the Lysene realize just how close he was to that flaming brazier now.

"Oh gods no…" He pleaded, shaking his head with what freedom he had.

Euron gave a cruel small smile back. "There are no gods. There never was…because if they existed I'd have long been struck down, don't you think?" The hand gripping the First Mate's head pushed forward, the man resisting in return. "So I think we've achieve some balance in my domain tonight!" With a growl he shoved the left side of the man's face into the flaming embers.

The First Mate howled and screamed, body thrashing as the Greyjoy kept him down to be sheered by the intense heat. Any pleas was garbled even the man's tongue was burned, unable to stop from inhaling the smothering embers. After a long moment, Euron at last pulled him back and tilted his limp head back to gaze at his work. The burns were even worse then the raider who stood aside, staring in shock. The eye lid was fused shut, nose melted to a stub of blackened cartilage and cheek flayed to little more then a thin layer of cooked muscle. The man though still breathed, wheezing air weakly as it seemed the flames had even burned down his screaming throat.

"Fair don't you think?" Euroned questioned the burned raider, casually tossing the First Mate down to the deck. "An equal half to your own suffering."

The raider gawked a bit, lips flapping like a fish for a moment at a loss of words. "A-aye captain. A fair judgement."

"Yes indeed." By now two of the Silence crew moved up, grabbing one arm of the First Mate to drag downward into the depths of the ship. "It seems though I'll need a new First Mate." Stepping towards the scarred raider, he had one hand clap firmly at the man's shoulder, making him flitch in fear. "I think with your experience…you'll have better judgement then the last one."

"Of c-course! It…it'd be an honor captain!" He replied quickly back with a nod.

"Good." He'd nudge his new First Mate back towards the helm, retaking his position at the wheel. "Try to learn from what you'd been through tonight…and you'll get quite far in life." With a small grin, he'd gesture for him to leave. "Now I'd hate to see you die from an infection. Go get that burn tended to before seeing to the rest of the men…make sure they get double meals and grog for the next few days as compensation."

The casual switch from a cruel torturer to showing a friendly concern was off putting. "Yes captain! The men will surely be thankful for your generosity!" Quickly he'd hurry off to get his injuries tended and to avoid somehow provoking the insane Ironborn.

Alone once more Euron shifted his gaze from the open black sea, grinning eagerly as he imagined the glory that soon come. "A throne of iron…a crown of driftwood…and a chalice of Witcher blood. Worthy trophies for a god…"

…

 **Notice: So I have some great news for everyone! My story is going to be featured on a new podcast group called Fan Ramen. They're a group of voice actors who read fanfiction chapters like an audio book, even included sound effects as well. The chapter Fury of the Melee will be featured in two episodes, one being Geralt's chat with Robert and the second being his battle against the Mountain. There will also be an interview episode with me chatting with the podcast, talking about what goes into writing a fanfic like this among other topics.**

 **The release date will be in early April a week before Game of Thrones Season 8, so between the 7th and 13th. A final date will be given hopefully when my next chapter comes out, but you can learn more quickly on the Fanfiction forum for the White Wolf of Westeros.**


	31. S2-E7: Grey Tales & Midnight Flames

**Chapter Thirty: Grey Tales & Midnight Flames**

 **Forward: As always editing credit to Rainsfere.**

 **Geralt –The Fury, Entering The Bite – Late Morning  
…**

Geralt slowly paced about in the captain's cabin, gaze moving from between the pinned-up map of the world and to Stannis who sat behind the large desk. Davos stood beside his King, whispering to him over everything the Witcher had shared. After the attack by Euron's pirates, he had only a few hours of rest before being requested to speak to Stannis over the nature of his 'powers'. Much like how he had told Lord Eddard and his companions, he was detailed and blunt about how his Signs worked, even demonstrating Igni to control the candle flames in the room. As usual Stannis was difficult to read, the man able to keep that stern composure even when seeing magic before him. Perhaps witnessing the more flashy power had him more prepared for the full reveal.

"As usual Geralt…you're a man of continuous surprises." Stannis muttered, sighing as he'd interlock both hands in thought. "I feel I shouldn't be surprised though because of all the rumors that have been going around and the claims of witchcraft on your bounty."

"So the question is will it be an issue for you?"

Stannis smirked slightly. "You know I'm not a superstitious man Geralt, I'm not fearful of the unknown like so many others. Besides, you are on our side and will no doubt be invaluable as the war goes on."

Geralt didn't remark about the King's remark about being involved in the civil war. In fact even he wasn't sure what role he'd play until the meeting between Stannis and Robb were finished. "So no more questions then?"

"None for now…though I can tell you have your own questions to ask."

The Witcher nodded. "Its about last night's attack, mainly this Greyjoy we evaded. Is there a chance he may become a risk towards us in the future?"

"A fair question which I feel best suited to explain." Davos said, Stannis nodding in agreement. "Focusing on the Iron Isles…he isn't exactly welcomed there. While a master planner and captain during the Greyjoy Rebellion his dark and depraved habits is what got him exiled. I don't know the details of his actions, only that it is relates to one of his brothers."

"So then the Lannisters, would they try to ally with him."

"That is tricky to say. He was key in planning the destruction of their fleet during the Greyjoy rebellion, at least from what rumors say. Considering though the Lannisters lack a real fleet, they could be desperate enough to bargain for his aid."

Stannis nodded, standing up from his desk as he'd move to the window facing westward, watching the coastline they were sailing along. "Whatever the case his time will come, be it if we face him again in battle or hunt him down once the warring is over. For too long his ilk has been left unchecked and under my rule such parasites will be crushed with no mercy."

"Noble aspirations your grace." Davos remarked in agreement. "So what of the pirates we've captured? Do you plan to pass judgement now or later on?"

"Their fate is obvious considering their actions…yet after some thought I feel it would be fitting for Lord Robb to judge them."

Geralt gave a curious look hearing this news. "So another 'gift'?"

"In a manner of speaking. Afterall, we captured them close to Northern waters, thus it is the right of the Warden of the North to decide their punishments."

"Huh…logical and cunning choice." Geralt muttered surprised at the political cunning Stannis was showing. "That aside, I take we won't have any more surprises now that we're within The Bite?"

"Aye." Davos quickly remarked. "The waters here have Whiteharbor ships patrolling about, meaning only someone of Euron's madness would dare challenge against."

"Even so, we'll remain on guard until we reach the port or find one of their ships to escort us." Stannis added. "For now you should get some more rest. We should arrive at the harbor within a day and a half if the weather is on our side."

Despite the chaotic night, Geralt didn't feel tired after a small dose of Swallow and a few hours of meditation. The tensity of being in a large and real battle after so long just left him restless, even if he didn't show it openly to others. "I'll be ready for when we disembark. Goodbye King Stannis."

The stern Baratheon nodded as he'd return to his seat, Davos already talking with him on possible battle plans to come. It seemed the two wanted a clear war strategy to present to the Lords of the North, no doubt hoping for a quick victory in this war. Walking onto the deck, he'd see the crew active as they were cleaning the deck and doing repairs from last night's battle. The crewmembers were quick to give friendly greetings or respectful nods as he passed by, Geralt returning a few in return as he made his way to the stairs below deck. Feeling a tad bit hungry, he decided to head into the mess hall which was lightly crowded, since those injured during the battle were enjoying their double rations. At one table in the corner of the room he'd see Sansa, Arya and Barristan sitting together having their meal. All of them seemed to have gone through the night safe enough, but the girls had a nervous look in their eyes.

"Everyone doing alright?" Approaching them, the Stark daughters did seem to snap to attention, welcoming smiles on their faces.

"We're a bit…shaken after the attack. It is a good thing we were below deck when it happened." Sansa replied back politely.

"The girls were restless last night and decided to do a bit of reading here. The open space in the mess hall is more welcoming." Barristan added.

Arya nodded. "When we heard the bell and yelling we were confused, at least until the whole ship shook. You should have seen how Sansa nearly fell out of her seat." She'd giggle a bit, trying to jest a bit.

"Some of those pirates did get below before the hatches were closed. Barristan took care of them with ease even before the crew could even react."

"He seemed as fast as you Geralt! Even after all my practice I could barely see what had happened."

"I was simply following my promise to protect you and the safety of the ship. Still the praise is humbling." Barristan as usual downplaying his amazing skill. "Besides Arya, you were just as quick to react drawing that blade of yours. I'm sure you could have handled yourself against one opponent."

"Surely I could have taken two…umm…maybe three?" She lightheartedly argued. "I mean…I did hesitate when I saw those men. The wild look they had on their faces were fearsome."

By now Geralt took a seat beside the young Stark, knowing the girl seemed unsure about her capabilities when the threat of a real fight had broken out. "The Ironborn are fierce fighters, focusing on shock and cruelty to surprise their enemies. Very different from a House Soldier or a knight."

Arya sighed, nodding in understanding. "I know freezing up like that can get me or someone else hurt. I'm not sure how I'll overcome that moment."

Admittedly Geralt wasn't sure how to answer. His intense training and the mutations had overall dulled his fear, while Arya needed to overcome such an emotion more readily. "It is a difficult matter…" However he then remembered that one book he had been saving. "But maybe we can find the answer. Tell me has any of you heard of a tale relating to someone called the Grey Knight?"

The Stark girls gave thoughtful looks before shaking their heads in response. Barristan did seem to have an odd look in his eyes, but said nothing on the matter, leaving the Witcher curious if the old knight knew something. For now he didn't press the matter.

"So…is he like those mystery knights that appear in tournaments!" Arya quickly remarked excitedly.

"Maybe. Best we see what this book says about him." Geralt remarked, shifting to get up from his seat. "Just be a minute." Moving to leave the mess hall, he'd reach his room and quickly shift through his pack to find the old book. Returning to the hall and his seat at the table, he'd set the book down before opening it up. "Alright… **A Study of the Grey Knights: Westeros' Forgotten Champions**..."

"Please don't tell me this is a history book." Arya grumbled, though was shushed at by Sansa to be quiet.

…

 _ **Forward**_

 _The history of Westeros is a long and old tale. From the myths of the Children, the ancient tales of the First Men, the invasion of the Andals and lastly the conquest of the Targaryens. Many focus on the stories of these defining ages, ignoring the smaller yet fascinating tales hidden away. Always I've been curious of the century when the Targaryens lived secluded on Dragonstone while the land of Westeros remained divided into separate warring kingdoms. Following records from the Citadel and Dragonstone, I have pieced together a lost paragon, a True Knight, The Grey Knight. For this title stretches back to the Andal invasion thousands of years before the Targaryens would arrive._

 _ **Early History & Possible Origins**_

 _Set between the north of Driftmark and west of Dragonstone there is the remains of a small smoldering island. At a glance many would think it an inhospitable place, yet among it's charred remains lies hints of a small hamlet with a keep over watching it. For here this was the domain of the Grey Knight, a man who dedicated himself to the tenants of knightlihood. The island in the past was a rich and fertile place, a stark contrast to the more barren shores of Dragonstone. Beyond the knight and his choice squire, a small community of the needy tended to the island, individuals the Grey Knight gave free refuge._

 _The origins of the Grey Knight is in fact a mysterious one, only that it traces back to the invasion of the Andals. From an exiled Andal lord or king, one of the last pure First Men, or even being a descendant of the Last Hero. Whatever the case he was a man dedicated to the just morals a true knight follows, but also a follower to both the Old Gods and The Seven._

 _The only connection I could find to explain about this dual faith is related to the Knight's distinctive armor and arms. Ornate plate armor that is as tough as stone, an unyielding full shield and lastly a large flanged mace that could crush even the finest plate. While I have been unable to find any pieces of this armor, it is believed that it was forged in a forgotten unity between the Children and Andal clerics. Blessed by both faiths, the forged gear was meant to be unbreakable and allowed only the worthy to properly don it._

 _ **Succession & Duties**_

 _An important detail is that the Grey Knight wasn't a single individual, but a title that is passed on from Knight to successor. The Knight is expected to have a squire or to at least have a prospective successor to appoint before his death. To take this role was to give up your name, titles and titles with family. It is a sacrifice that the records show is the most difficult to accept._

 _While there are some accounts of the Grey Knight having fallen in battle, seemingly without a successor. However decades later a new knight would appear, with the armor and weapons seemingly disappearing from those who have claimed them as trophies. Some claim that there is an unknown group whose duty is to safe guard the Knight's armor and arms, though wilder claims say it is divine intervention. For now this remains a mystery._

 _Whenever there was warring within Westeros, the Grey Knight would sail from his island home. Seeking out the most just lord or king, he'd dedicate his service to them. If he saw no one worthy to offer his loyalty to, he would focus on protecting the small folk from all aggressors. A knight may choose to serve under a Lord during peace time if he wishes, only leaving if his Lord goes against the tenants of the True Knight._

 _Indeed the Grey Knight is also deeply dedicated to the code of honor. Selflessness, protecting the weak and humility being the core traits he follows. Often this dedication has led to untimely ends for some Knights. Indeed this quality relates to the last recorded sightings of the Knight._

 _ **The Clash with Aegon**_

 _From what is recorded the Targaryen family had an eye out for the Grey Knight's lone island, seeing it a perfect sort to produce food for themselves. However the Knight's reputation made them hesitant, even with their fearsome dragons at their side. It wasn't until Aegon the First's conquest that the Grey Knight approached them, demanding them limit the destruction their dragons brought. For while the Knight saw possibility of ending the constant strife between the kingdoms, the dragons wrath was too wild and unchecked._

 _Aegon, young and proud did not take the knight's warnings seriously and even sent a small force to claim his island. Twenty elite soldiers, their bloodlines having been loyal to the family for centuries, all of them repelled within the day. Not a single one was killed, only battered to submissive, baring a message challenging Aegon himself. A duel of honor to the death or submission._

 _The confident dragonlord accepted the challenge, curious to see if the Grey Knight's reputation was true. Arriving on the back of Balerion the Black, he thought the great dragon would have the Knight surrender at just the sight of the beast. Yet there on the island's grassy shores, the Knight stood unfazed, treating the conqueror's arrival with casual formality. Aegon was quick to point out he could simply have his dragon burn the knight to ash and claim victory, yet the Grey Knight was cunning. Playing on Aegon's pride, claimed that a true king wouldn't rely on anything else but his own personal skill and strength to win such a direct challenge._

 _Aegon accepted and the two battled, but the gathered tales do not explain for how long. The only details show that the Grey Knight simply wouldn't yield. Aegon's fighting prowess was legendary, but the Grey Knight was unmatched in defense. An unstoppable force clashing with an unmovable object. Whatever the case Aegon grew more and more frustrated as the Grey Knight remained ever calm and formal._

 _At last the young conqueror's patience snapped as he brought Balerion forth, demanding the Knight to yield or be burned alive. The Grey Knight refused, standing unfazed before the looming black dragon. It is said Aegon only wanted his submission, yet he hesitated in calling his dragon off before the beast unleashed an all-consuming inferno. His flames burned every inch of island, which had been evacuated before hand by the Knight's command._

 _When the flames of destruction cleared, Aegon shifted through the ashes, trying to find some trace of his honorable foe. For in his shock he found the nameless knight's armor and arms, the grey metal untouched by the draconic flames. Some tales claimed Aegon and even Balerion wept in shame, the Targaryen realizing he was not prepared to truly rule. With the Grey Knight's possessions gathered, it is said he built a hidden shrine to the knight, in hopes that one day a worthy successor would arrive to take the mantle._

 _While some of these details can be seen as exaggerated to over glorify, the time this battle was reportedly set may have connections. After this point in Aegon's conquest, he took a more just approach to his battles, giving his enemies a chance to yield and serve him, keeping a degree of control over their regions. If the duel with the Grey Knight had happened, it could be the reasoning for this more diplomatic approach._

 _ **The Last Sightings**_

 _It would not be until Aegon's death that a new Grey Knight appeared to continue the tradition, with some accounts claiming to visit Aegon's tomb to pay respects. Throughout the Targaryen reign, the line of successors have fought for and against varying reigns. The last known appearance was late in Robert's Rebellion, taking a minor part during the Battle of the Trident, leading a small militia force of Riverlanders in a surprise flanking attack. In this case it was confirmed that the Knight did fall in battle, holding off Targaryen soldiers pursuing wounded Stormlanders and Northerners._

 _It is unsure if this Knight had a squire, but since that Rebellion was only a few years since writing this study, the next successor may not be active just yet. Time will tell if this True Knight of the ages will continue on, forever a hero within isolated folklore and an unknown figure throughout Westero's history._

…

Geralt continued to read further into the book which had more sections that detailed the mysterious knight's exploits. By this point a sizable amount of off duty crew were listening in with interest, wanting to be distracted by tales of true knightly heroics. Considering how the last few decades had marred the image of knightly honor; this unknown story gave some hope of a return to those just ideals. While this old maester book was more of a historical study, offering a peek into the past. Fact and fiction did seem to blend at times, yet it was an escape from the grit and strife happening present day.

With his mind focused on the book, part of him wondered if this new war would be a calling for this Grey Knight. If there was someone the small folk of that unlucky region needed, it was an honorable champion taking charge.

…

 **The Riverlands, Brave Companion Palisade, Somewhere between the Red Fork and River Road – Sunset**

…

It had been over two months since the Brave Companions had begun their occupation within the Riverlands, all part of Vargo Hoat's deal being hired by the Lannisters. Tywin lacked the numbers to fight both the Riverland and Northern lords, so recruiting the Companions ensured a quick foothold within the region. The Brave Companions only a few hundred strong, but their ruthless tactics and mobility gave them value. Hoat had been quick in occupying Harrenhal under orders of the King Regent, wishing it to make the ruined fortress the center of the Lannister's war effort.

However making that ruined holding suitable to live in and be secure had it's issues. Materials and labor was needed, things that the lands farther south couldn't supply fast enough. Of course the Riverlands had both in ample supply, only requiring a firm hand to acquire them. If there was one thing the Brave Companons excelled at, it was pillaging, using their mobility and ruthlessness to get what they needed. Already they had rounded up able men from the nearby villages, taking advantage if the fact that the Riverland Houses seemed to be keeping their bannermen on the defensive. It was easy for the first few weeks around the crossroads region, yet when they began to expand towards the west they began facing hindrances.

"Four setbacks in one week. Unbelievable." The mercenary captain muttered, a fair skinned Dornishman who had been working with the companions since it's founding. Shifting through reports, his eyes narrowed with each page he read.

One scouting unit had been sent to follow up on odd rumors going of a refugee community forming in High Heart, claims of three sisterly mystics offering safety. There had already been strange sightings of creatures and disappearances even before the Companions arrival, bringing up superstitious talk among the men. For now that piece of woodland was avoided until a more sizable force was mustered.

The two other reports involved raiding parties being repelled by two villages, the peasants seeming to have gotten basic gear being led by someone with battle tactics. At first these setbacks were ignored, attention refocused on moving supplies back to Harrenhal. Then those supply caravans were suddenly being hit, every man killed, and a few strung up in the trees in warning. There were also notices being found, bounties for Companion stripes and a sizable prize for Hoat's head himself. Whoever was organizing this was well organized and privately funded.

"Has to be another mercenary group, small but elite group. Maybe the Tully's hired them to counter us…though their methods aren't like anything I've seen before." The mercenary captain muttered. "And I bet Hoat knows who…that old Goat will have to tell me what the hell is going on when I report back!" Marching outside his tent and into the camp proper, he'd look about the colorful band of mercenaries tending to their gear and milling around camp fires.

"Captain, we got one of the 'recruitment' parties returning. Seems that got a sizable group and a cart full of supplies by the looks of it." One of the men on a watch station yelled out.

"Good. We've been behind on laborer numbers and materials for over a week. Get those gates open!"

With the order given the wooden log gates were pulled open, letting a bound line of a dozen men marching forward with six mercenaries leading them along. At the rear was a large cart being pulled by a sturdy horse, a gruff Northerner in a deep green cloak manning the reins. At the front was a Dothraki, scarred across one eye which was pale in color. "Got a healthy bunch for you captain. Skilled labors we tracked down between the Red and Blue Forks." The copper skinned raider chuckled.

The Companion Captain nodded, pacing along the line of prisoners who he examined. "All look healthy and fit enough." He remarked before, glancing back curiously among the newly arrived mercenaries. "You lot all from Harrenhal? Can't say I recognize any of you from our camp."

At this point the Northerner driver spoke up. "Aye. Commander Hoat decided we try a new approach after the attacks we suffered. I'm a newcomer admittedly, veteran from the Rebellion, know this region like the back of my hand." He'd grin with smug confidence. "Knew of an easy crossing where Forks split, let us get by them with ease and raid a quarry pit." He'd gesture to the back of the cart which had a dusty tarp covering it. "Packed with good bricks and mortar powder, perfect for the work back at Harrenhal."

Moving around to the back of the cart, the captain lifted up the tarp to see the collection of building materials collected. Shifting one hand into the fine mortar, he'd nod his head. "Not bad. At least you didn't waste space on looting. That can wait when we march west." The Dornishman remarked before tossing the tarp back over the supplies. "Get the prisoners into the pen and park the cart by the stockpile next to it. We'll take full stock tomorrow morning before we get everything shipped back to Harrenhal."

The group nodded as they'd guide the prisoners too a large wooden pen where more peasant prisoners were held, fifteen others by the looks of it. While the captives were being herded into the pen, the driver guided the cart to be parked beside the right side of the prisoner pen, which was alongside the material stockpile the Companions had been building up.

"Anyway, all of you go get some rest. You're all coming with me back to Harrenhal to sort your report out." The captain added before returning to the tent. With the new orders given, the newly arrived sellswords marched to a large empty tent just as the last lights of the setting sun were fading away.

…

The group relaxed once they were in the tent, everyone shrugging off their traveling packs and weapons, taking seats on laid out bedrolls. The Dothraki chuckled a bit as he'd draw out his Arakh, getting blade oil to maintain the sickle blade. "So far so good…eh Marcus?" Ogatto chuckled, words having a double meaning to their group and anyone eavesdropping on them.

"Aye. We best get a bonus for the effort we put in, right lads?" He gruffly remarked back, drawing out short remarks of agreement from their companions. In the meantime, he opened up his large pack which had his crossbow partly dismantled. With practiced care he began to piece it back together, inspecting each part to ensure there was no damage to it.

His gaze did shift slightly to the tent flap, shadowy outlines of the other sellswords outside. It seemed that the captain was keeping an eye on them out of suspension. Marcus looked to their four militia companions, the most talented among the small folk for this infiltration. They were all nervous, knowing they were in the lion's den now, surround by thirty bloodthirsty killers. While their confidence in fighting had improved greatly in the last few weeks, this would be their most dangerous mission yet.

Giving a small waving gesture to the tent flap, Marcus flexed his hand to show three fingers with his thumb covering over the pinkie against his palm.

 _Six men on watch._

The others nodded in understanding, everyone having been taught the unique code speak the Grims had. One of the militia members raised his right arm, arching it in a reaching motion as if scratching the back of his head. His left hand tiled to one side to show the palm before the index finger pointed up doing a short circling motion.

 _Question. When do we rally up?_

Marcus nodded before showing four fingers, then clenching into a fist. Following that he had all his fingers make a circle at the thumb then change to hold up two fingers.

 _Four hours. Midnight._

"Get some rest men. We have a lot of work ahead of us." Marcus assured before focusing back onto rebuilding his crossbow. Ogatto remained on watch, not wanting to let his guard down when the guards were keeping an eye on them. The rest of the militia were busy getting rations out or getting ready for a short nap after the march to the camp.

"Now its up to the others…" The huntsman muttered to himself.

…

 **Four Hours Later**

By now nearly half the camp was asleep, the Companions not fearing attack because of any notable enemies in the area and their strong defenses. At the southern watch station which faced towards the nearby road, two guards were on duty, both bored out of their minds with their current shift.

"Night watch. Bloody hate doing it…" One mercenary muttered, leaning back against a corner post.

"Maybe if you followed orders you wouldn't get stuck with this shift." The other muttered, being more attentive about keeping an eye out towards the dark woodlands. "It's the lazy ones like you that drag our name down…"

"Gah fuck off!" The lazy guard growled, leaning his head back and closing his eyes a bit. "I signed up to fight and pillage, not play babysitter for full grown men."

The other guard just gave a grunt back, leaning against the edge of the watch post railing as he keep his gaze forward.

"Don't get you professional types. We're not some fancy army after all, just bloody sellswords." He continued on. "Hells I bet we could sneak up on those Lannister mines within the Westerlands. With all of their army busy coming to the Riverlands, it'd be easy pickings!"

Once more his watch partner was silent, back still facing him and head lightly bobbing in fact as if he was dozing off.

"Well you could at least cuss back at me instead of being silent!" Annoyed with the silence, he'd stomp over to stand beside the fellow mercenary. "And all that talk of taking watch seriously! Why I-" When he reached to grip the man's shoulder to turn and face him, his eyes widened in shock. An arrow was lodged deep in the man's left eye, the man's death so quick that he still had a calm expression on his face. Right then the shocked sellsword wanted to yell out an alert, but a chilling gut feeling had him hesitate as he just heard something just down below the wall. By reaction he looked down, just seeing a spark of flame and a hooded cloaked figure hoisting a burning bottle.

A bottle that just smashed against his face, glass cutting into his face and flaming alcohol soaking all over his head. The flames quickly spread across the fur and cloth pieces of his outfit. At last the shock kicked through him as he stumbled about, spreading the flames onto the wooden watch station now before at last giving out horrible screaming and wailing. Between that and the fire, the other guards were quickly yelling out to alert the whole camp. The other watch station was also burning up, the other two guards scrambling to climb or even fall out of it to escape the flames.

"FIRE! THE SOUTH WATCHES ARE BURNING!" Someone yelled, men hurrying to get water before the whole wooden fortification was set aflame. With water barrels set in a central location, giving them a quick means to combat the fire that was slowly spreading along the palisade wall and nearby tents.

Already the Dornish captain was out of his tent, barking out orders. "Get those flames out now! I want anyone who is armed ready for anything! We're most likely under attack!"

At that point there be a resounding slam at the palisade gate, the barred entry buckling under the force. Again and again it followed, muffled yells following as these unknown attackers put more force in ramming the gateway.

"Damn it! Archers form up in the rear, shoot as soon as their through! Pikes and spears front, slow them down!" The captain ordered, getting the mercenaries into a defensive line with the bowmen ready to shoot.

With most of the camp distracted, that was when Marcus and Ogatto made their move. They along with their four-militia snuck out from their tent, moving towards the prisoner pen. Only one lone sellsword was guarding it, the man seeming unsure if he should join the rest or remain. When he saw Marcus and the others he relaxed slightly. "Glad you're here. Was worried I'd be alone watching this lot." He remarked. "What the hells is going on though?"

"Surprise attack of some kind." Ogatto remarked, being the first to approach the guard, the rest of his party gathering around. "But you don't have to worry about that." Flashing a grin, he then gave a powerful punch across the man's jaw. The stunning blow had the man stagger, leaving him exposed for the Dothraki's strong hands to grasp the sides of his head, giving a sharp twist as he snapped the neck. A quick and silent kill, hidden from view by the militia members. Ogatto quickly dragged the dead mercenary behind the parked cart, hiding out of sight from the distracted Brave Companions. Three of the militia also moved to the cart, quickly shifting through the stacks of bricks and bags of mortar.

Marcus unlocked the pen cage, walking towards the gathered prisoners. Those that he had brought in smirked, nodding and muttering excitedly. As for the other captives, they were nervous and confused. "What the hells is going on?" One villager questioned.

"This is a rescue and a chance for you to strike back at the Bloody Mummers." Marcus gruffly remarked, grasping at the colorful patches of his disguise, ripping them off the sturdy leather and light chain armor he wore. At that point the fake captives would start drawing knives out, hidden up sleeves or tucked in boots, cutting their bonds off then moving onto the others. At this point the militia members walked into the pen with dusty bags of weapons, all of it hidden under the building supplies. Reinforced clubs, sturdy wooden round shields, short spears and slings. "I recommend the newcomers to pick out the spears or a sling if you know how to use one. If you lack the will to fight, then stay back here and out of the way." There was a resounding crack and more yells from the sellsword captain as the gate seemed ready to crack apart. "Got seconds left. So will you step up as men or hide away like a coward!" The mix of a rally and insult seemed to do the trick as the unsure prisoners gave stern looks before grabbing spare weapons.

"Then tell us what to do stranger." One remarked.

Already Marcus led everyone out of the pen, Ogatto waiting for them having stripped off the Brave Companion colors off his usual attire. "Seems we have a small army now." He chuckled, hefting his Arakh on one shoulder.

"Alright. Shields and clubs, you take front alongside our Dothraki. Spears, behind them. Slings, at the back with me! Let's surprise these bastards!" Marcus ordered as he readied his crossbow, everyone quick to get into formation. They hurry forward together with Ogatto taking a slightly lead in the short march to the camp gate. Just as the gathered mercenaries were in sight, the gate shattered apart, the dust from shattered wood clouded the opening.

"FIRE!" With the Dornish captain's command, the line of archers fired into the breach, a dozen arrows flying at once. They expected to hear pained cries and yells, but instead there was a dull 'thunk' instead of the arrow heads striking metal. With the dust clearing, a large grey metal shield was revealed and a large armored figure standing behind it. A group of shielded militia quickly formed up alongside Doric, large wooden shields up as another barrage of arrows flew in. "Keep firing!"

"CHARGE!" Ogatto's fearsome roar startled the Companion archers, one turning to face the Dothraki only to get his head cleaved off his shoulders. The villagers closed in behind the Blood Rider, using the shock the man brought to close in on the bowmen. With no melee weapons drawn, the archers could only try blocked with their bows which proved ineffective defending against heavy clubs. While most of the militia only knew the basics of fighting, their tactical positioning evened the odds for them.

"They are flanked! Move forward!" Doric called out, voice commanding yet ever calm. Taking the lead, he'd rush at the line of spear men, shield forward and heavy flanged mace raised for a devastating swing. Three of the sellswords aimed their spears out, jabbing out from multiple angles to try harming or just slowing the imposing knight. Doric was prepared for them, body angled to ensure the spear heads struck his most armored spots, the wooden shafts snapping from the impact. Undeterred, Doric swung his mace in a sweeping strike, hitting into the left side of one gawking mercenary. The impact crushed that side of his ribcage, thick blood being coughed up by the man. The force and momentum of that blow knocked him into a fellow mercenary at his right, both knocked over in that one attack. "Press on!" The knight urged.

At last the battle had fully broken out as all the militia and the Grims were engaged with the Brave Companions. Doric and Marcus gave out short orders or gesturing signals to ensure their villager allies adapted their positions. The Northern huntsman had moved his group of slingers to the right side of their forces, pelting at the bogged down mercenaries. Between his skilled aim and powerful crossbow, every shot ensured a downed foe. While the slingers rocks weren't as lethal as a bolt, the constant barrage was staggering as it was coming from both groups.

The Brave Companions were losing morale fast, attacking out of line and some even trying to struggle free from the melee to escape. One did get through but didn't get far as a fierce growl from a tent surprised the lone mercenary. Garm stepped into view, the large half-wolf having snuck in during the battle, playing to his role of picking off stragglers. Pouncing on the man and knocking him over, the yelling sellsword tried to ward off the vicious bites for his neck. It did little to stop the trained beast, yells becoming garbled as his throat was soon being ripped into.

To add even more to the chaos, an arrow or two shot out from the darker corners of the camp. Targeting the most able fighters among the Companions, the vicious missiles thinning the mercenaries numbers even further. At this point the sellswords were nearly at half their number, all of them huddling into a defensive circle now. The Dornish captain looking about, slightly bloodied in taking part in the fighting. Looking about at the surrounding militia, he could see a fierce confidence in their stance and a pent anger towards his group. "Everyone hold!" He yelled out. "We wish to parlay! There is no need to throw any more lives away."

At this point Doric stomped forward, the bloody head of his mace hanging low to drip onto the ground. "You speak of parlaying and lives, things that the Bloodly Mummers have never shown to others." The knight spoke back. His full helmed head turned, looking over his gathered fighters. "Your kind raid their homes, steal what little they have, rape their loved ones and then force them into bondage. You never give a choice, you simply take."

From the back a slinger threw a rock out, striking the Dornish captain across the jaw. "You bastards killed my pa! You fucking strung him up in the middle of my town like some criminal!" The youth with a sling cursed out. Everyone tensed up, both sides preparing to fight again. More voices joined in, the men venting all the crimes the mercenaries had done, some even dating back to the Rebellion years.

"Times are changing scum." Marcus spoke up, quieting the mob as he stepped beside Doric. "Be it mercenary, deserter or bannermen, anyone who threatens the smallfolk will face hard resistance." Raising his crossbow up, his stern eyes narrowed. "So lay down your arms. At the least some of you may walk away alive."

There was a long pause, the mercenary captain looking about, fear showing in his eyes as he knew there was no escape in this situation. "To be threatened by peasants. World is going upside-down…" He cursed lowly. "Men…drop your weapons. The peasants think they've won but the commander will make them pay tenfold for this." He'd toss down his spear, glaring spitefully at the Grims. While the men were hesitant, they began to pile up their weapons, all grumbling low threats.

With the battle over the militia cheered, men clapping each other on the shoulder in their victory. Marcus sighed in relief that the battle was over, putting his crossbow onto his back before whistling to Garm to come to his side. "It's a good start boy…a very good one." Looking to Doric, he saw how the knight watched the men. "Heh that helm may hide your face Grey Knight, but I know your proud of them."

Doric gave a short nod and 'hm', gesturing to silently order the militia to bind up the captured mercenaries. "Tonight they proved themselves. But that captain is right. It will only get harder for us all." His gaze did stray to the dead and injured smallfolk, being taken to captured tents to be tended to. "I wish that I could do more to protect them. My shield and body can only block so many foes."

"At the least these men died with honor." Ogatto remarked, having finished collecting a few colorful patches from the slain Companions as trophies. "They may not be as fierce as my kin across the sea, but these smallfolk do fight with double the determination."

"With their lives and homes on the line, they should be." Marcus muttered in agreement.

"Ah so very touching." A smug voice spoke up, making the three Grims look to their last companion. The Shadow was crouched low by a corpse, yanking out one of his signature arrows from a dead mercenary's throat. The barbed and serrated tip made a bloody mess being pulled free, the assassin grunting in annoyance flicking gore off the arrowhead. "We can talk on about noble intentions and 'bright' futures. Right now there is still work to be done."

"For once your right." Doric remarked, moving his attention to the Dornish captain who was shackled and separated from the remaining sellswords. "We require information on your forces at Harrenhal. Number of men you have, special units and the like. Do so and by my honor as the Grey Knight you will be fairly judged."

The Dornish gave a smirk and chuckle. "So, betray the rest of my company for a cozier pen? We both know that my fate is going to be on the end of a noose either way."

"The people want justice for your band's crimes, many of which you directed." The knight calmly stated. "I give you this offer because my companions will be less kind for answers. So if you have any decency, then accept my offer."

Shaking his head, the captain spit at the knight's chest plate, marking over the dull gray with a hint of red blood. "Fuck you. I don't need your pointless honor or your pity." A cruel grin crossed his face. "Commander Hoat will butcher every stinking peasant who dare hold a stick…burn every hovel a family cowers in and then salt every inch of land of his cesspool they call home. Cross the Goat and he'll take everything in sadistic spite."

Doric sighed, wiping the gunk off his chest plate before stepping closer to the man. At last the captain could see a hint of eyes under that great helm, a red eyes chilling him to the bone. "Then may the Seven and Old Gods know I did my best in your case." Turning away, he'd face the Shadow. "Your turn then."

The black hooded assassin grinned evilly at the news, stepping up to the Dornishmen to grab at his shirt collar. "Wasted your breath trying to 'save' this one." Holding up one of his arrows, he'd put it close to the man's cheek. "Can say I've learned a lot when it comes to 'questioning', having met my share of outright nasty executioners and torturers." The serrated metal slowly cut along the tanned skin, drawing a hiss of pain from the captive. "Wonder what will break you first." Looking to Ogatto, he'd nod to him. "Care to help? Rather not dirty the camp any further or scare the peasants."

The Dothraki smirked, seeming amused with the offer. "Always curious to watch your handy work." Stomping over behind to prisoner, he'd grasp his shackled arms to shove him forward. "Let's go on a walk 'captain'. A last one." The two Grims and the unfortunate captain moved out through the ruined gate, disappearing into the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Marcus and Doric meanwhile moved through the raided camp, searching for what they had originally came here for. Inside the back of the tent were the mercenaries extra arms and armor, enough to supply their growing forces. "Distasteful the weapons of war, but they will be put to a righteous cause." Doric muttered as he examined a rack of blades.

The huntsmen nodded in agreement as he too took stock on their prizes. "Aye. None of them should be forced to fight, but war never gives us a choice." His gaze was distant for a moment, thinking of the past and also of his family before coming back to reality. "In the end you're doing what your meant to do Doric. People need the Grey Knight, a True Knight in these unjust times. Tonight you showed that to them."

The armored man was silent, seeming as still as a statue. "It is true." He at last answered as he at last gazed at a gleaming kite shield, no doubt a prize stolen on a raid. "I will follow my duty as every Knight before me has. To my last breath. However it will never absolve me of my greatest mistake…nothing will."

It was harrowing to hear the knight say such things, making Marcus wonder what the honest man had done to be so burdened. Despite knowing Doric for so many years he knew so little about him beyond the history of his armored mantle and his noble personal actions. "Maybe…but I believe you'll find some peace one day." Placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder, he gave a small smile, Garm even coming over to nudge his snout at the knight's leg.

"You're an honest man Marcus. The best of us I say." With that kind compliment given, Doric moved to leave the weapon tent. "Now…I need some time for myself. See that we pack everything of use for tomorrow and prepare the message for the murderer Hoat. We stick to Zarin's plan, have our forces fortify in Fairmarket for our final clash with the Mummers." With the directions given, the Grey Knight marched out of the tent and another in the corner of the camp.

With the fellow Grim gone, Marcus moved to head for the captain's tent to check over his reports. However, he'd pause as he heard cawing, making him glance at the palisade walls to see a couple of crows perched on top. The sight reminded him of the same encounter he had back on the road with Hadrian, making that tense gut feeling return to him. Even Garm growled threateningly at the birds, one of which cawed back fiercely, beady red eyes glared at them.

Quickly drawing his crossbow, he aimed and fired it at the noisy birds, striking the one that had snapped out. "Stop watching us…whatever the Hells you are…" He muttered, continuing on his way despite the confused looks nearby militia showed.

…

 **The Crones – High Heart**

"Gah! Pesky huntsman!" Weavess cursed, clawed hand swatting at the foul water within the scrying bowl in anger. She paced about their new lair, a massive hollowed-out tree that she and her sisters had willed to grow around their new pool of power. "These Grims. They aren't as blind as the other humans."

"But useful as well." Brewess chuckled from her spot by the pool, massive spoon mixing the thick red mixture within it. "They've left so many bodies for the pool. Strapping men unlike the frail peasants we've been getting by with."

"Indeed sister." Whispess remarked, walking into the inner sanctum in her 'graceful' form. With a gesture the illusion faded to return her to her true appearance as she moved closer to peer into the pool. "Let the Grims and sellswords fight. Whatever the outcome it will benefit us."

Weavess murmured in annoyance, though didn't argue with her elder sister. "How goes your visit with the Lords? Sway any more to our cause?"

"Lord Edmure does seem to favor us yet remains neutral. At the least he won't hinder us." She answered. "Among the minor Houses I have gotten House Bracken to ally with us, especially when I promised them control of Blackwood Vale. Their hatred to House Blackwood makes them easy to control."

"Oh? We still going after that boy?" Brewess cooed.

"Considering we will never get our claws on that House, it is best to remove them before they become a problem." Weavess remarked. "Besides it will be a show to…test our might and impress our new subjects."

Whispess nodded in agreement. "Next I think I'll go further north. If there is one House we need to ensure control of the Riverlands, it would be the Freys. They will be key to wiping out both these Starks and Lannisters once they begin their war."

All three cackled in glee. only quieting when a bestial bellow came from the pool. "Ah yes…he's ready!" Brewess chuckled, as a huge horned head began to peek from the waters and one massive three clawed hand grasped at the rough edge of the pool. Once more their newly created chort roared, breathing its first unnatural breath on this world.

…

 **Doric – The Brave Companion Camp**

Entering the lone shelter, he'd give a deep sigh as he made sure the tie the flap tightly to ensure no one could see within. "Peace." He'd slip off his shield before laying his mace on top of it, then shifting fully to sit on his knees. Reaching up, he'd undo the clasps that kept his great helm in place before at last lifting off his head. For the first time since the morning he took in a deep breath of fresh air, eyes closed as he savored the one sense he could still enjoy.

In the low light from the fires outside the tent showed that his face was covered in worn bandage wraps, lightly coated in the ointments Zarin gave him. With practiced care, he'd undo them to reveal his bare skin…cracked grey skin that covered every inch of his head and neck. Not a single hair remained on his head, having long fallen off because of the Greyscale.

Removing his gauntlets next, his hands were then exposed, also similarly wrapped though he didn't work on removing them. Both hands reached to touch his scale scarred face, going down from across his brow, cheeks and strong jaw. "Nothing. I feel nothing as always." He muttered to himself. It had been that way since Zarin had saved him, forever binding him to his service.

"A blessing and curse." Clashing both hands before him, he'd bow his head in prayer over his laid-out weapons. "By the Seven I ask for wisdom and guidance to be just. By the Old Gods strength and will to endure. Faith and duty drive me, for it is all I am." His prayers continued on, a rite he did every day to calm his wearily spirit.

"Lastly…I wish for safety to my Lady. For my failure brought on her own curse…the one I've burden myself with wholly." Closing both eyes, he take a deep breath. "Lady Shireen. May you and your father forgive me…"

…

 **Notice: A little change of perspective, but a needed one I think. Events are building up in the Riverlands with new factions making their stand, along with touch on Doric's mysterious past. I can promise next chapter, we'll return to Ciri and begin her adventures in Qarth.**

 **I do have some more news about the episodes being features on the Fan Ramen Podcast. The episodes will be featured the week before Game of Thrones last season premier, between the 7** **th** **and 12** **th** **. It will be two episodes, one a 50-minute reading from the Fury of the Melee chapter. The another being a short interview with the podcasters and me talking about writing, future projects and the like.**

 **There is also plans for a give away on Game of Thrones prizes the week before, but nothing is set just yet. I will put clear updates on my profile and blog in time, but to stay most up to date just visit the Fan Ramen podcast website. If anyone has any questions, feel free to private message me or chat in the Q &A on the forum here.**

 **I'd like to give a big thank you to everyone reading my story, since without your support I wouldn't have this great opportunity being featured in this podcast. I'm sure you'll all enjoy it, since the team at Fan Ramen is putting their full effort into it.**


	32. S2-E8: Splendors of Qarth Part 1

**Chapter Thirty-One: The Splendors of Qarth – Part One**

 **Forward: Editing credit to Rainsfere.**

 **Ciri – Trade Route to Qarth – Late Morning**

…

The last few days of traveling were far more comfortable than the hellish trek through the Red Wastes over a week ago. In that month-long journey, Ciri had nearly forgotten how quickly a group could move with enough horses, carts and a vague road to follow. She had been switching between riding along on her horse or relaxing in the main carriage with Daenerys and their Qartheen hosts. The last few days had been focused on learning about the city's history, varying factions and cultural norms. It was a lot to take in, though both women knew they needed to understand as much as they could if they wanted to bargain with the Thirteen.

Every night they camped, she, Dany and Jorah would discus on possible plans once they had reached the city. One thing they all agreed on was acquiring a ship with a skilled crew and full supplies so they could at least leave this isolated corner of Essos.

" _While we're not coinless, I doubt we can afford a ship large enough for the entire Khalasar. I have no plans to abandon anyone after what they endured through the Red Wastes." Dany had been quick to state, showing her dedication to her people rather than her own gain. "We will have to rely on our own wit and whatever influence our host Xaro can offer."_

Thinking of Xaro, Ciri glanced at the nearby carriage window to the charming Trade Prince chatting with Dany and Jorah. At the least he was trying to get to know Daenerys, wanting to be appealing to her beyond just his wealth. Overall it seemed he was set on his offer of marriage, which had both great benefits and uncertainties.

" _We know nothing of his intentions, short or long term." Jorah had remarked. "To marry you would give him a chance to co-rule with you in Westeros…that is if we ever get the means to retake the Iron Throne. There is also no denying his interests towards the dragons, which once grown up they will become powerful weapons throughout the known world."_

Then her attention was on Pyat, the warlock currently riding his own horse alongside the mysterious Quaithe. The pale man was muttering to her, though Ciri had no idea if the so-called Shadowbinder was even talking. At times Pyat did glance at her, knowing that the ashen haired woman was watching them.

" _Both Pyat and Quaithe are difficult to predict. I do have a feeling they have some real magic power, but to what degree I can't be certain." Ciri had informed the others. "Despite that though I don't think they share the same interests, even if the Warlock says otherwise. All I know is he seems eager for me to meet the rest of his order. As for Quaithe…I suspect she knows I'm not really 'Vaera Waters', but for some reason has kept it to herself."_

Ciri hadn't included the fact the woman knew about her greater destiny as well, feeling that such information would only trouble her companions. Until she knew more about the woman's intentions, this was her problem to solve. As she rode about the caravan, she'd group up with the Bloodriders who rode close by the carriage, the Dothraki seeming on edge not being at their Khaleesi's side. Approaching Rakharo, the Dothraki looked to her before giving a small grin.

"Taking a break gossiping with the Trade Prince?" He questioned.

Ciri chuckled and shrugged. "That seems to be Daenerys' forte. Still he's proving to be quite a formal host, having gone so far to help us."

"Yet not out of purely good intentions." The Bloodrider reminded. "He may not be a Milk Man because of his dark skin, but he acts just as soft as them.

The odd Dothraki name for Qartheen had Ciri smirk a bit. "Kind of a silly name and one I hope you or the others don't spout off." She warned in a jesting tone.

"Well it's a fitting name!" He laughed back. "The people of that city supposed to have paler skinned than even you or the Khaleesi. Plus they have such…odd and demeaning habits. Did you know they consider openly weeping as a mark of civilization?" The warrior shook his head in disbelief. "If that is what it takes to be considered 'civil' then expect my people to never fall that low."

"Hmm I don't know. As appealing as a strapping warrior may be, there is something warming about a man open with his emotions." Ciri's tone playful, even a bit flirty towards Rakhero, who did blush ever faintly.

Shaking his head slightly in confusion, he'd give a low mutter. "Never understand some women…" However, he snapped to attention as the group reached the top of a low slopping hill. "Ki the vezhven vezh!"

Ciri too gawked slightly, fully agreeing 'By the Great Stallion' at the sight before them. While the ruins of the City of Bones were impressive, the walls of Qarth were twice as imposing, literally. For surrounding the gleaming port city were three rows of ornate walls. She was good at judging their height from this distance, thirty feet, forty feet and the last fifty feet. It made sense why the Dothraki nor the cities of Essos had conquered this place, between a strong navy and land defenses it would take years to siege this place.

"So…still think the Dothraki can conquer it?" Ciri whispered to Rakharo, snapping him back to attention.

Glancing sideways a bit at his fellow Bloodriders, hoping they could give him some answer, but they seemed just as awed by the city. "I…I think our pride has blinded us…in this matter." He said, seeming to be in deep thought over this.

In a way Ciri felt bad for the Bloodriders, these elite raiders truly seeing how imposing this powerful city state was. They muttered to each other in Dothraki, seeming to be debating about a private matter. While she was curious, she decided not to bother them as she'd notice that Dany had opened up the window to lean out the carriage and see the city itself.

"Its…beautiful. It makes Pentos seem so simple in compare." She remarked.

"I'm glad you are impressed Khaleesi." Xaro chuckled. "The walls are considered one of the eight great man-made wonders of the world after all. Without them I doubt Qarth would have grown into the city it is today."

The other Dothraki were amazed by the city walls as they approached, the children wide eyed and yammering excitedly as they approached the iron forged gate. Guarding the gate were a dozen men dressed in gleaming scaled copper armor and intimidating snouted helms with long tusks each crowned with a long black plume. In hand they had long cavalry spears and sabers at their hips, perfect weapons for mounted combat. Their mounts were camels, an odd yet suitable creature for the harsher climate in this end of Essos. What was even more eye catching was their fine leathered saddles which were inlaid with rubies and garnets, the sunlight glittering off them in quite a distracting manner. It seemed even with their soldiers, Qarth enjoyed showing off their wealth.

"Mh…now that is a true trophy saddle." Rakhero chuckled with a greedy gleam in his eyes, his fellow riders seeming to all agree. Ciri just hoped none of them had any ideas of getting said saddles, be it fighting or stealing them.

At last the caravan came to a stop a short distance from the ornate guards, with Xaro's carriage stopping at the front. The door opened for the Trade Prince, Dany and Jorah to walk out while three of the guards approached. Ciri, Rakhero and another Bloodrider moved up as well for Daenerys' protection. The leading guard moved ahead, bowing slightly from his saddle towards Xaro and Daenerys.

"Trade Prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos." The man formally announced. "It is good to see you return so soon and with unique company as well."

"Thank you captain. As you can see my advisors were right about having me venture beyond the walls." Gesturing to Daenerys. "By the right of Soumai, the Khaleesi Daenerys Stormborn and her Khalasar are to be given entry into the city as my honored guests."

"I understand the traditions of Soumai." The captain answered back. "The Thirteen though…didn't expect you'd bring back so many people, much less Dothraki." His helmeted head looked across the group judgingly. His gaze did stop to linger on Ciri, no doubt finding her Targaryen like features surprising, though he didn't remark about her. "No Dothraki has set foot in Qarth in ages after all…"

At this point Daenerys spoke up. "Then I can assure you that my people will obey Qarth's laws fully." Her sharp gaze met the man's, making him shuffle a bit in his saddle. "By the honor of the Targaryen name, I swear to that."

With that promise given, the captain was silent for a moment before nodding. "Then I and the people of Qarth will accept that." He'd raise up his spear before shouting something out in Qarthien. There was a resounding creak and groan as the gate behind the guards started to rise up, letting the group see the next three that also rose along with it. "We will escort you to Lord Xaro's palace. Please ensure no one strays away during our trip."

With those directions given, the captain and his men turned about to lead the caravan forward. Ciri gave a small sigh after that tense moment, giving a small proud smile to Dany as she walked by. "A wise choice of words."

"What, expected me to threaten letting my dragons loose?" Dany giggled.

Oddly Ciri had a feeling that if events had played out differently the young woman would indeed give out such a threat. Shrugging the thought aside, she'd watch as the trio got back into the carriage before moving forward. With the caravan slowly moving along, they'd pass through the three gates, each one closing once everyone had gotten through. At last they passed through the final wall, everyone soon gazed over Qarth's cityscape.

"Lady Daenerys and Vaera. I welcome you to Qarth! Xaro grandly announced with a proud grin.

They were now on the main street, finely paved with colorful bricks in such dazzling patterns, which in turn matched with the bright hues of all the surrounding buildings. In fact that was the most striking thing about this city, the explosion of colors wherever she looked. After being out in the red sand wastes and dusty savanna for so long, Qarth's colorful surroundings were almost blinding to her. Looking further down the street let the group see the lavish land marks ranging from a massive regal citadel with a domed roof. East of the citadel, a vast bazaar with terraced walls filled with lush gardens surrounding it's bustling crowds. Further east laid countless palaces and villas, each one seemingly more grand then the last. Then lastly to the south was beautiful port filled with drifting ships each with a different colored sail from countless cultures across the world.

Every building seemed like a unique piece of art, much of it reminding Ciri of the time worn structures of the City of Bones. Along the walls, gem stone mosaics that depicted a wide mix of images ranging from the history of Qarth, exotic animals, monsters or abstract works. Overhead was out stretched vails of sea green and blue, all held up by bronze archways that were just as artistically varied in design. With them passing through the circle square, Ciri recognize a fountain that was very much like the one they had camped around for a week back in the City of Bones. This one though flowed with pure water, the steams of fluid coming out of spouts shaped like gryphons. So far no matter where they looked, there was always something stunning to behold, further showing the mindboggling wealth of this city.

Ciri glanced to the carriage to see Dany gawking at the wealth and wonders about her. Considering the young woman had seen a few of Essos exotic sights already, it just showed how impressive their surroundings were. Her sharp ears though quickly heard curious mutterings all about, making her realize there were crowds of people about. The citizens of Qarth were dressed in the finest of clothing with even, much to her distaste, the collared slaves that followed their wealthy masters. She had been warned before hand about how slavery was practiced here like much of Essos. While is was also true that Nilfgaard also enslaved others, it wasn't to the degree that was shared about Essos. Part of her thought that she could end such a cruel and barbaric practice…if she ever returned to her world and accepted her father's offer of emperorship. Though here, there was no all commanding position to simply rid it.

"Everything alright Vaera?" Jorah remarked in a concerned manner, speaking out from the carriage.

Realizing she no doubt had a serious look on his face from her troubled thoughts, she'd shake her head. "I'm fine. Just…it's a lot to take in." She answered back with a small grin.

"It is understandable." Xaro remarked, intruding onto the conversation. "Once we reach the bazaar we'll be close to my palace."

With the group circling around the outer edge of the bazaar, they'd overlook the mix of palaces and villas that made up the homes of the city's most wealthy. "Umm…which one is it though?" Ciri chuckled, a bit daunted by it all.

"Ah…that one." The Trade Prince replied, pointing to perhaps one of the largest and lavish of all the noble homes. In fact Ciri was sure it rivaled the size of the Imperial Palace within Nilfgaard's capital, though that was a long time ago. At the least it was the size of a small trading town with the gardens surrounding the palace being practically a tropical forest. "Thank you for escorting us captain. I'll be sure to have you commended for your professionalism."

"That is an honor sir, along with escorting such honored guests as well." He replied before signaling for his men to follow him back towards the gates.

Everyone within the carriage filed out, Xaro already at the lead as servants began unpacking all the carts, though the Dothraki preferred handling their own. Dany's handmaidens would have the dragons out from their cages and carried along in their cozy baskets. They had been hidden to avoid any unwanted attention, since the sight of the reborn beasts would have an endless mob of onlookers. Plus they were Daenerys' surprise for the Thirteen, a small show of her growing personal power. The three creatures glanced about the tropic garden with curiosity, already eager to explore and hunt.

"I feel this is where I depart." Pyat politely stated. "The Grand Master will be eager to hear the news of your arrival and I'm certain in due time a formal invitation will be given." Giving a parting bow from his mount, the warlock guided his horse back to the street, quickly disappearing from sight.

Quaithe in turn also would speak up. "I feel I'll be leaving for now as well. I have personal matters to attend to, but we will meet again quite soon." The masked woman's gaze was set on Ciri though, making her words seeming to focus on her. With a short nod, she too moved back to the street though went the opposite direction Pyat had taken.

With the mystics gone, Xaro gave a small sigh, though Ciri wasn't sure it was frustration or relief. "Now then, we have much of the day left for us." The man announced to Daenerys's personal group. "The Thirteen will no doubt invite us for a dinner meeting, so we have the whole day to prepare."

"That is good to know. It would be embarrassing if we didn't get a proper bath and change of clothes." Jorah commented. "Perhaps some shopping as well."

Both Ciri and Dany had an excited hint on their faces with that last suggestion, both of them curious to explore what the vast bazaar had to offer. "I say a bath and a short rest would be a good plan for now." Daenerys stated. "By late mid-day after lunch I think we'll then head out for the market until the evening. Hopefully by then we will get your fellow council members' summons."

"A wise plan Khaleesi." Xaro said in agreement. "My servants will ensure your people will get proper quarters. If you'll follow me I'll show you all to the baths." Everyone followed Xaro through the maze-like corridors of his palace, passing by more Unsullied guards who served him. At last they reached a hallway which split two doorways, which had faint steam flowing from under them. "I had the wisdom of building two pools to ensure privacy for my guests. I'm sure you wish your bodyguards to be presentable before the council after all."

The Dothraki warriors had slightly annoyed looks at being judged by the man, though Jorah was quick to step in. "A fair point Lord Xaro. We have to show the Thirteen that the elite Bloodriders are true warriors serving our Khaleesi." Glancing to the trio, he'd nod. "Besides I doubt any of them would think of turning down a warm bath." That last remark had them glance at each other and chuckle a bit in agreement.

Dany was pleased Jorah was keeping her hotblooded warriors in line, giving a small smile to the gruff knight. "Then we best get started. Also no need to worry about my safety, Vaera is more than capable in guarding me." Giving a parting nod to Xaro, she led her handmaidens along with her carried dragons into the bathing pool chamber. Ciri lingered to give a short wave to Jorah, a faint smile on her lips before following after her 'sister'.

…

Xaro in turn gestured for the men to follow him to the door to the right, opening it for them to reveal the bathing pool itself. The marble and tiled chamber had quite the large pool, large enough to host well over a dozen people. The source of the steam they had seen back in the hallway was from the water itself, which Jorah deduced was from pipes and furnaces below the palace. What was the most…attractive feature of the pool was the host of servant girls bathing or drying off at it's edge. Seeing their master and his guests, they giggled and muttered in different languages, curious of the Bloodriders and Westerosi visitors. The attractive sight had the Bloodriders grinning, instantly welcoming towards the playful girls.

"No need to be shy around my servants. So long as you don't force anything onto them, they'll do their best to…tend to you." With the Trade Prince's invitation, the Dothraki were quick to strip out of their light leather armor and clothing, muscular copper skinned bodies on display to the giggling servant girls. They gave a gleeful yell, which Jorah knew was a warcry to their people, they'd jump into the bathing pool. The girls laughed out getting splashed and quickly swarmed the Bloodriders, rapidly asking questions and having massaging hands roam across such honed bodies.

"Seems you know the weakness of every Dothraki warrior." Jorah jested as he undressed, though taking more proper care with his armor and clothes. Jorah was slightly denser with muscle than the three Bloodriders, his fine tanned skinned also hinting faded scars from the many battles he had gone through in life.

"I know they don't trust me, so I thought it best to be welcoming to them." Xaro explained, undoing his lavish robes and the fine clothes underneath. The dark-skinned man seemed to exercise enough from what Jorah could tell, though obviously his luxurious light style did leave him a bit 'soft'. "Besides I want them to be busy while we discuss private matters." Both men slipped into the pool, sitting in the more shallow end of the water. Once lodged back, four servant girls approached them, two for each man. One sit at the pools edge rubbing along the shoulders while the other slipped up to the side, bottle bathing oil on hand which she spread along their chests.

"Not planning to bribe me now are you?" Jorah chuckled, relaxing to the girl's soothing care, though paying close attention to the Trade Prince.

"No, I simply want your honesty when it comes to your Khaleesi and her mysterious sister." Xaro stated back, raising one arm to let the servant wash along it. "You are her closest adviser, a man who's seen much and understands the realities of the world."

"Aye…yet over the last month I've seen the impossible. Dragons reborn, the Khaleesi untouched by a pyre's flames and a long-lost Targaryen stepsister." Jorah chuckled a bit. "Sounds like a fairy tale doesn't it?"

Xaro couldn't help but grin in agreement. "A fair point." He'd sigh as the servant at his shoulders got a tense spot. "I can say Vaera has been fascinating to chat with. So many interesting tales and she carries such a fine blade that it must be Valyrian in quality." Chuckling a bit, he'd give a small gesture to Jorah. "So is it true she beat a Bloodrider and half of his raiders by herself?"

Jorah nodded. "Aye, I saw it before my very eyes. In a way it reminds me of Rhaegar's dueling skills because of the grace and power she has. Course she fights tough, not shy of using streetwise tricks to catch one off-guard."

"Heh, that reminds me of my youthful days when first coming here." Xaro laughed out. "I can tell she's had a strong impact on the Khaleesi in quite a short amount of time."

"Daenerys's has suffered many losses over the last few months, with only her dragons and Khalasaar driving her on. Vaera has also been a proper sibling for her as well since her brother was…abusive."

"No need to go over such details. I've heard the rumors well enough." Xaro dismissed. "Already me and my advisers debate on what role she will play in the politics to come." The dark-skinned man paused in thought before speaking again. "I can say I've noticed the way you look at her. I'm good at reading people Jorah and I can tell you have more than just respect towards her."

The Northerner didn't react to the man's claim, keeping a passive expression on his face. "She's an exceptional woman. Charming and brave…just a few qualities that appeal to any man." It was a blunt if evasive answer.

"Heh very true…" However the Qartheen remembered how she had taken the time to wave goodbye to the former knight, a hint that attraction wasn't simply one sided. "Ah but I'm being rude prying into such personal matters. In turn you may ask a question of your own, if you have any."

It seemed like a fair tradeoff, an easy means to shift topics at least. "There has been one question on my mind since we met, mainly something your pet warlock had mentioned. While the Order of Warlocks are a secretive bunch, I've never heard of them having a leader."

Xaro didn't respond at first, gaze shifting to the servant girls who slowed in their cleaning. "That is enough for now. Go see that all our clothes are washed for later." He ordered, the girls bowing their heads before hurrying away. "If anything I was just as surprised with Pyat revealing that. The Grand Master is an individual that only the Warlocks and the Thirteen openly know of."

"From what your warlock implies he is the founder of their Order."

"Then unless we're dealing with a living mummy I'd doubt that claim. The Warlocks have lived in Qarth for over a thousand and a half years. I doubt the claims of their Shade of the Evening can prolong one's life for that long, unless they have…other means to extend it."

"Then I pray not. No man should live beyond their natural limits."

Nodding in agreement, Xaro sighed as he leaned back where he sat. "Whatever the case the Warlocks have been more active than ever before. Oddly it began right when that Red Comet had appeared in the sky…and in turn the same night those dragons were reborn."

"Doubt that is coincidence." Jorah still wasn't sure what to make of the Warlocks, considering they had seemingly known of their location. "Whatever happens it will be up to the Khaleesi to decide."

"Indeed. Times are changing Jorah…and I for one plan to be part of it."

The Northerner didn't question further about the Qartheen's remark, but knew this man had boundless ambition. Which was what worried him the most, since such men always proved to be the most unpredictable…

…

Rising up from the water, Ciri gave a gasp for air after dunking herself under the warm water. Her white hair was undone from the short bun she usually had, making the soaked hair rest along her neck and even top of her shoulders. "Mgh gods I've missed baths like this." She sighed happily out, stretching her arms over head. While Daenerys had seen the full extent of her scars when they first found her, it was still shocking to the Targaryen to see so many on a woman like Ciri. Slashing oiled water along her front, Ciri began scrubbing along her body with a sponge that was floating nearby.

"You know the handmaidens can do that for you." Daenerys chuckled, sitting close by in the shallow water with two of her servants tending to her. Ciri was surprised to see some hints of scarring and injury on the pale skinned girl, though that should be expected with her time being with the Dothraki and riding so much.

"You do know I prefer to care for myself." She remarked back with a smirk as she scrubbed down her chest, tracing around her perky breasts and down her toned belly. Her gaze did drift when her sharp eyes saw the serpent like form of one of the dragons swimming close by, moving towards Dany before peeking out from the surface, revealing it to be Drogon. "Heh seems they can swim well despite being their first time."

Dany nodded as she'd have her arms outstretched for the black scaled dragon who leaped into them. "I remember some tales about how dragons came to be. One tale was they lived in the hearts of the Fourteen Flame, the volcanoes of Valyria, only rising up from then when my people arrived there. Another is they were serpents living in the waters of the Jade Sea, changing over countless ages until nesting in Essos."

"Must be quite fascinating tales." She'd see another form in the water, making her drop the sponge aside before reaching her arm under the surface. The dragon came towards it, coiling along the limb so Ciri could lift him out. Rhaegal spit out a bit of water before shaking it head, giving a small squawk to clear his nose. "Speaking of the past, the question is what will be these three future? They are all male right…so…how will the dragons survive beyond these three?"

It was a sudden question that even Dany hadn't even considered after all this time. Tilting her head slightly in thought, she hardly reacted as Viserion climbed up onto the edge of the pool then onto her left shoulder. "Well…only a handful of dragons survived the Doom hundreds of years back. I believe dragons could…umm…change their gender during mating periods."

Ciri gave a puzzled look hearing this detail. Compared to what she knew of monsters and animals, it could be possible for certain species to adapt in such a way. "Guess we won't know until that time comes." She said with a shrug and small smirk. "Though if it does…we'll have to make new names for them all. Vissy Drogana and Rhagila?"

The suggested names drew laughs and giggles from everyone, Dany shaking her head. "Remind me never to let you name anything, much less dragons." She jested back with a happy smile.

"You're the queen to be." Moving closer, Ciri sat close beside Daenerys with a sigh. "Let your first decree be that Vaera Targaryen never name anything under your rule!" She declared in grandiose manner. She of course continued to use her Targaryen 'name', just to be safe of any spies Xaro made have. Even during cheerful moments they had to continue with this ruse.

Dany rolled her eyes at the joke, even giving a teasing jab at Ciri's side with one elbow. "Joking aside we should be planning over how to bargain with the Thirteen."

"Our personal position isn't as dire, but we don't have much to work with…" However, her gaze did look to the dragons surround them. "Its obvious what is one thing they'd desire to have, which they won't lay a finger then, Xaro included"

The steadfast promise had Daenerys nod thankfully. "Our host's offer though has been more…tempting since we arrived here." She glanced about the lavish bathing pool. "The wealth and influence he has can't be questioned after what we've seen."

"But is marrying yourself off to him worth it?" Ciri questioned. "True he's respectful and charming, but he obviously has grand ambitions. Question is what are they and how they can be a risk to you, your Khalasar or the dragons."

"I know there are risks." Dany sighed, one hand petting Drogon's spiky back gently. "I can't rely on just my family's name to earn me favors with the leaders of Qarth. My brother has over used that influence which I doubt is even valued this far east."

Pausing in thought, a sudden realization came to Ciri. "We have to work with your personal accomplishments."

The remark brought a confused look to the Targaryen's face. "My own? I mean…hatching the dragons and surviving the pyre wasn't…well…expected." She admitted shyly.

"Yet there is the fact that you led your people through the Red Wastes, a place that whole armies have struggled to cross." She explained. "Also just because I brought water doesn't change the fact your calm leadership and selflessness kept everyone together even when times seemed desperate." Ciri then nodded over to the nearby Valyrian short sword. "Along with the fact you have that. Despite the mystery of that weapon, it still is a show of prestige, even more considering your learning how to use it."

By now Dany was realizing what Ciri meant. "I'm understanding on what your meaning now." Nodding, the young woman seemed to have a plan forming in her mind. "Can you promise me not to try and speak on my behalf?"

Ciri nodded. "Promise. Can't hog all the attention from my little sister." She teased before shifting to stand up from the water and stepping out of the pool. "Best we stop lazing about and finish up."

"Fair enough…" The handmaidens would shift aside for Dany to get up, though the Targaryen did glance at the rose tattoo Ciri had on her inner right thigh. She had seen it before though never took the time to question about it "A bit sudden to ask but you never told me about that. A little mark from your mercenary days or something more-"

"Umm personal." Ciri muttered back quickly as she grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself to hide the marking away. "A story for another time Dany."

The reaction was odd to Daenerys, almost defensive. Considering Ciri had been open with her magical abilities, it showed that whatever the origins of that tattoo was quite important to her. And considering the way the ashen haired woman avoiding looking back at her that it was a troubling story as well.

…

 **A Few Hours Later – Qarth's Bazaar**

Daenerys examined over a jade green dress, holding it up against the front of her sky blue and tanned leather outfit. "What do you think? Simple and flowing, plus I think the color works well with my purple eyes." She asked Ciri and Jorah who stood close by. The handmaidens were close by with three holding shrouded cages that held Dany's dragons, who despite the noisy surroundings were behaving after the bath and a large meal. Lastly were the Bloodriders who stood on guard, giving stern gazes to curious onlookers to keep them away.

"I think a darker color would be more fitting…and a design that doesn't have one breast exposed." Ciri answered back, stepping up to point out how the left front was shaped to be revealing.

"It's is a classical choice in Qarth. A way to show off natural beauty and the free culture this city has." Jorah explained.

"As enlightening as it is to learn and respect other cultures, I doubt you'll get me into dress, much less one like that." Ciri smirked a bit. "I hope you don't expect me or the Khaleesi to wear it just for appeal to our hosts."

"Vaera, I may be in exile but obey the honorable code of a knight still. I would never think nor suggest such improper things." He calmly answered with a short bow of his head.

Ciri thought she could see a faint blush on the gruff man, though that was hard to tell because of his tanned complexation. "Fair enough Ser Jorah." Pacing around to a nearby stand, she'd eye a collection of leather clothing and light armor, reminding her of duelist clothing from her world.

"Ah! A good eye you have there, my lady! Braavosi leather, stylish, light and suitable for fighting." The Qartheen merchant manning the stand remarked. "Great against daggers and stabbing blades. I can tell from your sword and poise you are a swordswoman yes?"

"Hm, is it that obvious?" Despite the jest, she'd eye the simple manikin with a duelist outfit on display. The fitting vest was a deep tanned color with faint red lining across the steaming and a gray silver trimming. Under it was a fine linin shirt which was a matching color to the vest trimming. There was also a pair of soft leather gloves, perfect for maintaining a grip and protection for unarmed blows. Next was the sturdy cloth and leather padded pants, deeply tanned like the vest to continue with matching colors. Lastly were the boots, which under close inspection had metal pieces at the toe and heel. Glancing at own clothes, she realized she was due for an upgrade. Beyond keeping up her appearance, it seemed suitable that she get some protection if she couldn't openly use her powers. "So how much for this whole outfit?"

The merchant beamed before hurrying beside her. "The duelist's set. One of the best I have and all yours for a few hundred gold coins. You won't find better quality than this my lady!"

The price seemed high considering their funds, making Ciri bite her lower lip in thought. Dany was close by watching, since she had the decided say with their money. "It would be a fourth of our coin at least." She whispered.

At that point Ciri seemed ready to refuse, until a male voice spoke up from the side. "Surely you wouldn't think of charging a Targaryen, much less a stunning fighter such as her." The stranger's accent wasn't like anyone Ciri had met in Essos so far, in fact sounding more like the simpler tones from the Northern Realms. Soon the figure stepped from the crowd, a quite plain looking man with a buzz cut hair and wearing colorful if basic garb fitting of a peddler. Among the more lavish Qartheen's the man seemed very much out of place.

The leather merchant narrowed his eyes at the man, seeming annoyed with his interruption. "I don't need my competition getting in the way of my profits." He warned sternly to the stranger. "Targaryen or not, I'll not lower my price."

"True. You could charge this daring woman for all the gold she has, but you will lose more than you think." The stranger remarked while stroking one hand along his chin. "This woman from what I've heard slayed a Blood Rider in single combat, along with half of his raiders. Imagine the reputation you could gain if by your…generosity, you discount her. In the long-term you'd draw in more buyers looking for similar quality clothing."

Despite the open hostility the Qartheen had shown, he'd give a thoughtful look at the man's logic. "Perhaps…if this woman can prove her skill…if she is willing to."

This sudden haggling had caught everyone by surprise, mainly because they had no real part in it until this point. Daenerys gave a curious look to Ciri while Jorah's expression was guarded, feeling this was some trick. "Very well I accept a challenge, so long as the stranger decides on it."

"Very well, but I'll only allow it if I deem it suitable." The merchant declared.

"Fitting terms." The stranger took out a single gold coin, flicking it up and catching it with his open palm. "Let's see how well she can balance this coin." Again he flicked it over to the merchant, letting him get a feel on the size and weight.

"Agreed."

Tossing the coin back, the stranger nodded to Ciri. "When you are ready."

Everyone moved back to given the ashen haired woman space as she'd reach back to grip her blade. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she'd give a short nod. At the moment the stranger flicking the coin up high, double the height of Ciri. Flipping over and over, it gleamed light off the lowering sun before it began to descend down. At that moment her eyes snapped out and in turn she drew Zireael.

Raising it her overhead, she had angle the blade at a slope, the coin landing on it's side before rolling down it. It took a steady hand for her to lower her blade to be at a flat facing. At that point the coin stopped at the blade's center, she'd sharply flick the weapon up to toss the coin into the air again. This time though she caught it on the edge, the gleaming coin balancing on it's flat. "Have I proven enough?" She said with a smirk, enjoying the gawking expression the leather merchant had. With a short swing to the right, she'd fling the coin back to the stranger.

The onlookers clapped and cheered after the skillfully despite of swordsmanship, Ciri even giving a short bow after sheathing her blade. "Truly stunning. Such talent mirrors the tales of the Valyrian's fighting grace." The stranger praised before looking to the leather merchant. "Don't you agree friend?"

"A deal is a deal." The leather merchant sighed. "Half off then for the whole outfit."

Dany and Ciri grinned with the deal settled, the ashen haired woman already stripping her new outfit off the manikin. Jorah took care of the payment while she approached the mysterious merchant. "Have to say you have quite the wit when it comes deal making." She complimented the stranger. "You're not Qartheen and sure don't dress like the other traders here."

"True. I came here quite a long time ago following the grand stories of this place. Always something new to discover, as today has proven." The plain merchant chuckled, clasping both hands together. "As for my attire, its because in this city I'm perhaps the only one with a sense of humility despite my successes."

At this point Daenerys stepped up to speak. "And what type of trade do you follow…sir?"

Giving a low bow, the man gave a polite grin. "Gaunter O'Dimm at your service fair Khaleesi. As for my trade, it's a variety of things, though mirrors are a favorite of mine." He'd gesture across the stretch of bazaar towards a large shaded stall. "Considering your new purchase, where better to see how you look. Besides, I believe I can offer insightful information to your endeavors here in Qarth."

"You've been a gentleman so far O'Dimm." Dany politely answered back, waiting for the rest of her companions. "I am curious to know what you have to share, that is if my sister has no issues."

By now Ciri had her new clothes gather up. Oddly the man's name seemed quite…familiar, thinking she heard it before months back when she talked to Geralt. Also despite the man's helpful and formal manners, there just seemed something…off about him. "None at all." She quickly replied, trying to ignore the strange unease she felt as they followed the mirror merchant.

…

 **Notice: Decided to split this Ciri chapter into two, though I'm sure no one will be complaining about that. I'm sure everyone will be excited to see just how Ciri's and Dany's encounter with the Man of Glass will play out, so expect another chapter soon.**

 **Also an update on the Fan Ramen podcast. The episode may be delayed to a week after the first episode of the new Game of Thrones season. A minor delay, but the crew for Fam Ramen are putting a lot of effort into making this a top-quality episode. Again for the fastest details on the podcast, check out their website or Twitter page.**

 **As always, please share a review or chat on the Fanfic forum on my profile!**


	33. S2-E9: Splendors of Qarth - Part 2

**Chapter Thirty-Two: The Splendors of Qarth – Part Two**

 **Forward: Well…this has been a long two months for obvious reasons. Anyway usual credit to Rainsfere for his edits. Please check the end of the chapter for some important news!**

…

Ciri was finishing changing into her new outfit in the small private tent Gaunter's outdoor shop had, reserved for customers wishing to change into their recently bought clothes before examining themselves in the humble merchants mirrors. While she worked on getting the laces of her boots tightened, she tried to listen in on the faint conversation outside between Gaunter and Daenerys, only picking out a few words. Despite how friendly and polite the mysterious man was, she continued to feel on edge about him and still trying to remember where she had heard his name before.

"Just being paranoid." She muttered to herself. For all she knew she must have heard of a few Gaunters back in her own world. Right now they needed a new ally besides Xaro, someone who could give some insight on Qarth beyond their lavish host. Gathering up her old clothes, she'd leave the tent where Dany, Jorah and Gaunter where waiting nearby, relaxing on large sitting pillows. All of them along with Daenerys's nearby procession looked at Ciri, everyone seeming quite impressed with how she looked in her fine duelist outfit.

"I have to say sister, you look quite dashing. If you just cut up your hair a bit you could pass as a man." The Targaryen teased with a small giggle.

Jorah chuckled a bit. "If the men back in Westeros and much of Essos saw you dressed like that…well…you'd annoy quite a few people"

"What, does seeing a lady in leathers and pants enough to frustrate the knights of Westeros?" Ciri jested back as she examined herself in one large mirror before moving to take a seat beside Daenerys. "As a Targaryen though I can dress however I see fit. So if anyone has an issue they can complain all they want…and if they want to fight over it…" She'd pat Zireael on her back, shifting the sheath blade off to lay beside her.

"Such bold independence. It's quite refreshing to see after so long." Gaunter commented with a small grin. "However I'm sure all of you have questions for me, considering I already know so much about you."

"Indeed." Dany replied. "Again I must thank you for helping us with that other merchant. I guess my first question is where you are from. You aren't from Essos from what I can tell…so are you Westerosi?"

"Heh admittedly I have no true homeland my dear. To me the world itself is my home, for I'm just a boundless soul seeking to experience it's wonders and hear it's endless stories."

"Quite poetic." Ciri commented. "I can say I understand what you mean, having traveled freely for much of my life."

"Glad we can relate." Gaunter chuckled. "Anyway I have shifted between trades before taking on my more…unique choice of merchandise. Mirrors aren't the most sought-after items; however they have been my life's passion for as long as I can remember. I doubt you'll find finer quality in all the world."

"Then I'll know who to speak to when I have need of one." Dany politely remarked. "You mentioned you also deal in other matters."

"Of course. Often I get my hands on quite useful trinkets, things that I trade or discover during my travels. Most I keep for myself, but at times offer them up for a trade or payment for a favor completed." The man explained. "Lastly I deal in information. Secrets, rumors and the like. My mundane appearance makes many overlook me, thus letting me overhear quite interesting conversations."

"Even matters relating to the Thirteen of Qarth?" Ciri questioned. "Our host Xaro insists they're quite the powerful group."

"Oh and they are. The amount of wealth they control is astounding, though I'm sure you understand that after seeing Prince Xaro's palace. The fact is though they are simply merchants who have played the game of trading to the highest degree. Money and material items are their interest…along with protecting said wealth." From his tone he seemed to see the Trade Princes interests to be quite dull. "However, you arrival here will surely stir things up."

"How so?" Dany questioned.

"Here in Qarth, the people prefer being isolated. They fear the outside world, of sudden change coming to them." Smirking, he'd gesture west to the city's triple walls to make his point.

"They have good reason to. Their riches and key place among the sea routes make's Qarth a target for many." Jorah countered.

"It is one thing to be protective of what is yours Ser Jorah, it's another when you shut everything out. Trust me, if it wasn't for Xaro, the fair Khaleesi and her people would have been forced back into the wastes."

"I have a feeling this is leading into how to bargain with them." Ciri said with an inquisitive look.

Gaunter nodded. "Sharp of you Lady Vaera. Normally one would simply trade for the Thirteens aid, though you lack the coin to do so or…willing items." His gaze did drift to the sleeping dragons in their covered cages. "So you must play on their weakness. Their fear of change and of the outside world."

"Such as the fact that Xaro wishes to marry me?" Dany remarked, surprising both Jorah and Ciri about sharing such information.

A curious gleam showed in Gaunter's eyes. "Very interesting. Those who serve the Thirteen have gossiped on this possibility. The fact is Xaro's position among the council is one of the 'lesser' because of how new he is. To marry you would gain prestige and influence…along with the fact you have dragons."

"I haven't accepted his offer…though after seeing his wealth it is becoming more tempting." The young Targaryen glanced slightly sidelong. "I know a marriage with him would be political, but the thought of doing so feels like I'm…selling myself and my dragons."

Now Ciri was fully understanding the conflict Dany had shown back in the baths. "Its your choice to make sister. If you feel accepting sullies your dignity, then perhaps you should refuse."

"That is the problem. I doubt Xaro will allow us under his care for too long or accept the Khaleesi's refusal. He'll most likely have us leave Qarth, hopefully by ship to a city of our choice." Jorah commented.

"Which is why you need to play on the other Thirteen fears to get their support." Gaunter stated. "However, do not try to threaten them, no matter what. They will be defensive and quickly shut you out of any negotiating. Let them make the first threat before countering and they'll back down quite quickly."

Everyone else thought over this last piece of advice, Dany seeming to be piecing it together into her existing plan. However before she could say more, Ciri spoke up. "There is someone else I'm curious to learn about, the Grand Warlock."

Gaunter gave a curious look hearing that title, stroking his chin slightly. "Now that is a name I don't often hear…or advise speaking publicly of." He calmly warned. "The warlocks may often be viewed as charlatans and frauds, but their Grand Master has prove to be quite dangerous. While he has become secluded, the Thirteen know to respect him, sort of an unofficial member of their circle."

"In what manner exactly? Xaro seemed vague about what he is capable of." Jorah remarked.

"Heh that is the problem, because no one knows truly what the Grand Warlock can do." The mirror merchant replied. "You see there was a warlock a year back who got a bit too lost with his ego, making public claims about how he'd take his rightful place leading the Order. Not long after that boasting, I found him one night drinking himself to a stupor, trembling as he rambled like a mad man." He paused letting tension build. "Now this may seem off topic but relates to this tale. But surely you've noticed something odd about Qarth."

The statement drew confused looks from the trio who glanced between each other, before they began to think over what he meant. Ciri though came to a quick realization. "There aren't any beggars or poor people living on the street."

At that mention Jorah nodded in agreement. "Even when I came to Qarth once during my travels, I noticed that too."

"While the poor do exist in Qarth, they are quite well hidden or at the least have the most basic homes within the harbor district." Gaunter explained. "The half-mad warlock spoke of how for a time his duty was to…collect the unfortunate, be it with bribing lures or force if needed, taking them to the House of the Undying."

"The stronghold of the Warlocks." Jorah muttered, glancing off towards to the east where among the other tall buildings as a faded red stone tower. "To think they live in that old ruin…but appearances can be deceiving."

"So your saying the Warlocks can simply kidnap people and the Thirteen don't care at all?" Dany questioned; a bit disturbed by news.

"Khaleesi, this is a city were slavery is legal. To the Thirteen and most of the citizens here, the removal of undesirables is considering good for the community." Gaunter bluntly stated. "Also no one knows what happens to those who are taken beyond rumors. Claims of them being used in experiments, enslaved to serve the warlocks or even taken to a paradise hidden within the House. Whatever the case, no one who isn't a warlock has gone into the House of the Undying has returned."

"So what about the warlock who spoke of all of this?"

"Ah right, back onto the tale. He drew quite a lot of attention with his ramblings, but then he sees someone…or something that has him tumbling from his seat. The look on his face was true terror as he screamed of them coming for him and that they were among us. Drew a wicked dagger, nearly cutting a few people in his shamble to run out into the streets."

"So did he ever leave the city?"

Gaunter shook his head. "A few days later the guard found a body in the alleys, dried up as if it had been in the desert for months. The only way they could identify him was the warlock clothes he still wore and that unique dagger he had. No one knows how the other warlocks could do that to a person, but no one dared question them."

The more they were learning about the Warlocks, the more troubling they sounded. Ciri already was figuring out why they were so interested in her, since if they could even sense magic she'd be like a roaring flame to them. Considering her history of power-hungry mages and secret orders of sorceresses vying for her, she'd have to see them in the same light.

"A fascinating tale, I feel we should move onto another topic." Jorah stated. "Since you are often traveling, perhaps you can share about any noteworthy news from Westeros. That is if you have visited it recently."

"It has been a while since I visited out west, though I've heard quite a few things when I was staying in the Free Cities." The merchant replied back. "The most shocking is that King Robert Baratheon is dead, killed by poison after an assassination attempt during a hunt."

A shocked look crossed both Jorah's and Daenerys face, though Dany's eyes had a pleased look hinting them. Considering Robert had killed her eldest brother in battle and was the main reason she was in exile, the young Targaryen had plenty of reasons to despise the dead ruler. Jorah's face was more concerned though since he understood the repercussions of the assassination.

"So have they figured out who killed him?" He questioned.

"Only rumors on who did it. Obviously the Khaleesi and her late brother were believed to be behind it, though considering recent events that is quite impossible."

Dany fiddled with her hands a bit. "Despite everything my brother never shared an plans to assassination. Besides, even if he or I had, we simply didn't have the coin or influence to do so."

"That aside there are other claims. One many believe is that Queen Cersei did it all to put her son Joffrey on the Iron Throne as a puppet ruler. Another one involves Robert's trusted friend Lord Eddard Stark of a conspiracy in trying to take control."

"Lord Stark would never do such a thing!" Jorah sternly remarked. "He may be the reason I'm in exile, but the man is honest and honorable."

The Northerner's reaction seemed to be interesting to the mirror merchant, though he didn't remark about it. "Overall Lord Stark was accused of treason for the murder of Robert and for trying to overthrow the Lannisters. He was arrested; however a small elite group of loyalists led a resistance within King's Landing. From what I was told the Stark's mysterious champion, the White Wolf, organized a rescue attempt when Eddard's trial turned into an execution."

"An execution. Ugh…seems the nobility of the south have learned nothing…" Jorah muttered. "Did Lord Eddard escape in the end by this champion of his…in fact since when has House Stark have a champion?"

Ciri was silent though after hearing this champion's title. She had to remember this was a different world, so they surely had to be others with similar titles as her adoptive father. Still, he listened closely as Gaunter answered back.

"Sadly it's unknown of Lord Eddard's fate, only speculation of him being alive or dead. As for the White Wolf, he's a mysterious fellow, a master swordsman from lands afar. He took part in a tournament in honor of Lord Eddard becoming the Hand, winning the Melee by defeating both the Mountain and Ser Jamie in single combat!"

The two names the merchant dropped drew a shocked look from both Daenerys and Jorah. Even Ciri recognized those names since Dany had told her how those two had killed quite a few of her family members. Gregor the Mountain had killed her Aunt and cousins with gruesome cruelty. Jaime the Kingslayer in turn had turned against her father, killing him which lead to the capital being sacked by the turncoat Lannisters.

"Both the Mountain and Ser Jamie alone. Whoever this person is can't be human." Jorah muttered to himself.

"Considering he crippled the Mountain; I may have to agree on that."

Dany smirked a bit at that detail. "Perhaps if I see this warrior I'll see that he get's rewarded, even if he is serving a House that overthrew my family."

At this point though Ciri spoke up. "Did this swordsman carry two blades on his back, have white haired and a scarred face? Also…what is his name?" She suddenly demanded.

"Why…yes he's just as you described. As for his name I believe it was Geralt, Geralt of Rivia in fact."

For a moment Ciri thought her heart had stopped, eyes widening in pure shock. Everything around her seemed to come to a stand still and all sound becoming muted. Already her mind was rapidly thinking over how this is possible…how Geralt of all people could be in the same world. She remembering Avallac'h discussions on reality relativity, of how some worlds could have individuals similar to others. However the description was too accurate and the name with the title was proof enough.

"No no no…how…" She muttered to herself, drawing concerned looks from her companions. They knew about Geralt after she had explained her past to them, though they seemed confused on how the Witcher could also be in this world.

Despite Ciri's obvious shock, Gaunter continued to speak. "Anyway, Westeros is now on the brink of civil war. Robert's brothers and the Lannisters contest for the Iron Throne while the North rally against the Lannisters as well."

"Sounds like the Rebellion all over again." Jorah sighed. "Yet in the end this is a sign of just how divided Westeros has become." Looking to Daenerys, the two were already muttering about what this could mean, though Ciri's attention was set on Gaunter. The merchant kept his gaze set on her, a friendly smile on his face.

"Just…who and what are you?" Ciri whispered, already tensing and reaching for her sword.

"Now my dear. Let's not be hasty." Gaunter answered back calmly. "If anything, it's time we have a private chat." With that, he clapped his hands together, the sound making a resounding echo to Ciri's ears. At that moment all sound seemingly stopped, making her glance about as she realized everyone was stuck in a stand still. "Ah much better." The entire market was now frozen in time, stilled by whatever magic this 'merchant' was using.

At this point Ciri had no doubts about who this man…this entity was. "I remember now Gaunter O'Dimm. Geralt told me about you…"

"Hopefully good things considering. I did help him out of a quite dire situation after all and our partnership was beneficial."

"Enlightening details in fact. However I want some clear answers now." She sharply demanded, fearless of Gaunter despite his show of power. "How did Geralt end up following me and what is happening to him?"

"Simple. He took the doorway you came through. As for how it worked for him despite lacking your unique bloodline, I believe it's the bond of fate between you two." Gaunter shrugged though, seeming dismissive of matter. "As for what he has been doing, it's was searching for you at first, trying to gain allies to aid him. Course…things have become complicated."

"Well not the first time he's gotten mixed up in civil wars and politics." Sighing, Ciri was silent for a moment. "He shouldn't be here. Facing the White Frost was my task alone to do…a task I failed in."

"Not completely." Gaunter assured. "So long as you live the White Frost can still be stopped, though the open window you had is long gone."

"Why do you care about the White Frost? Considering that you're here, traveling between worlds is quite simple for you."

"True, though my methods are different from your natural gifts. There are certain rules I must obey and you unique power have few limitations." He explained. "That aside I do have some attachment to a few worlds, your own being a favorite of mine. Besides it be quite dull if all of existence was slowly snuffed out."

"Alright…fair reasoning there." Ciri muttered before pausing in thought. "So then how do I stop the White Frost? I imagine it's connected to that crown horned creature I encountered when I first arrived here."

"Ah…that is the mystery of it all." Gaunter remarked. "The best I can describe that creature is an avatar of the Frost, a more direct aspect meant to claim this world. Right now the Frost is at it's weakest here, so failure isn't an option for you."

"So no second chances." A small chill went through her, remembering how close she came to dying against that creature, feeling it freezing the very life out of her. "I imagine I won't catch it by surprise again."

"Sadly no. Even if you knew where it was, it will be well protected this time. In fact, whatever it's plans are there are progressing rapidly." He paused letting that detail sink in. "You're going to have to handle this the hard way. Lucky facing this threat head on is doable since the people of this world has faced it before and even contained it for thousands of years. This time the source of the Frost must be wiped out, be it that horned creature you faced or some other unknown source."

Ciri scoffed a bit as she realized what he meant. "You mean build an army? That could take months even years…yet…" She glanced at Daenerys, already understanding why Gaunter suggested that. "If Geralt is trying to make allies in his side of the world while I build up Daenerys strength, a unified force would mean better chances.

"Yes. Much better chances." The way Gaunter repeated that made Ciri nervous, since it seemed there was no guarantee for victory. "Continue to advise and build up trust with Daenerys, who in time will have an army of her own. Besides, both you and her will become stronger as individuals…through your special bond to each other."

It seemed like a logical approach, though she had no idea how she'd convince Daenerys to go off and face a supernatural threat. Time would tell, though she wondered what Gaunter meant of them both becoming stronger from their 'bond'. "Then if we have nothing else to discuss I do have one thing to request of you."

"Curious. Tell me what it is."

"If you plan to see Geralt again could you tell him that I'm alright? Tell him that I'll find him on my own and to stay safe."

"A simple request that I have no issue with. Besides, he's going to be at a quite historic gathering, one that I don't plan to miss." Giving a small smile, he'd glance about their still frozen surroundings. "Now before I set things back in flow, I have one warning to give you. For soon you will face a dire threat that can possibly overwhelm you."

"What kind of threat?"

"Sadly I cannot tell you. Again rules I must follow." He dismissed. "Now listen closely. When you are promised great power, refuse it. When you are offered happiness, remember your duty. When given love, realize what you've already lost. When you face your greatest fears, face them head on. And lastly, when all hope seems lost, don't surrender."

Ciri wondered what threat could offer so many dangers at once, but she'd nod in understanding to Gaunter's warning.

"Good. Oh and please keep the truth about me to yourself." That little warning did make Ciri tremble a bit for a short moment she saw a horrible vestige about the merchant. With that, he'd clap his hands once more, bringing movement and sound back. It nearly took Ciri by surprise, though she remained composed around her companions. For a moment Dany glanced at her with a concerned look in her eyes, seeming to know something was wrong.

"Khaliseei!" The familiar voice of Xaro called out, stopping Daenerys from speaking. Everyone looked to the Trade Prince who had a few of the regal guards standing by. "The Thirteen have called for the meeting. It is time to see them."

With that direct message given, Daenerys nodded before standing up. "Gaunter, thank you for your insightful advice and hospitality."

"Heh, its has been an honor Khalessi! I'm sure our paths will cross again, and we'll have many more interesting tales to share." The mirror merchant politely replied. "Watch yourself well in Qarth, Lady Daenerys and guard your dragons well."

With that final warning, the trio rejoining the combined force of the Bloodriders and Xaro's Qarthen guard. By the main road was more of the merchant prince's carriage to transport them to the domed citadel of the Thirteen. With everything sitting down for the ride, Ciri could see how Dany wanted to talk to her about the news of Geralt yet remained silent with Xaro around. Speaking about the Witcher would after all risk Ciri's cover as a Targaryen.

"Now there is a few formalities you must understand about the council. As guests you will introduce yourselves first, sharing titles and the like. In turn you will let the Thirteen do the same…which is quite the long process."

"Well…that is one way to test those seeking an audience." Ciri remarked sarcastically. "Lucky we have quite the patience don't we?"

"If we could endure the Red Wastes, we can handle prolonged formalities." Dany agreed. "I also take that decisions the Thirteen make is by vote as well?"

Xaro nodded. "That would be correct. No member has no official strength over the others, though the elders have greater personal power. Crossing them could prove dangerous for us all, since even if the majority favors us, they could threaten us indirectly."

"Such is the way of politics." Ciri sighed, leaning back in her seat, watching as they neared every closer to the citadel.

Up close they could truly see how daunting it was in size, making it a fitting place for Qarth's wealthy and powerful to decide the future of the city. Arriving at the front steps of the domed citadel, there were more Qarthen guards along with Unsullied lined up in a display of power. Ciri guessed that Qarth didn't have a large official military, since the amount of Unsullied outmatched the regal Qathen guard. With the carriage stopping, the group filed out and began to move up the steps. Xaro and his guards were at the lead with Daenerys, Ciri and Jorah close behind. The three handmaidens carried the caged dragons, who seemed wake with the low screeching and murmuring they made. Lastly the Bloodriders were at the back, the Dothraki alert since they were surrounded.

Nearing the large doors of the citadel, a lone Qarthan guard stood before them, the man taller then the others. His armor oddly was less decorated then the others and Ciri's sharp eyes could see hints of repairs to the gleaming plate, showing that this individual took pride in being part of battles. His helmet also was stylized like a ram instead of a bull like the other guards, the curling horns ending with the sharp ends pointed forward. At his back he had a large falchion and round metal shield that seemed stylized like the sun.

As Xaro approached, the man bowed quite low despite all that armor. "I welcome you honored Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen." The man spoke, his voice deeper unlike even the guard who had greeted them at the gates earlier that day. Standing up, his helmed head glanced over the Trade Prince's guests. "As warden of the Citadel and the Thirteens chosen, I must ask to inspect all of you for the safety of the council."

"Do you mean to disarm us champion?" Jorah calmly questioned. "While we welcome the Thirteen's hospitality, I would not wish to be defenseless in protecting the Khaleesi."

The Warden didn't answer back as he already was looking over Daenerys's group. While none could see his eyes under that helmet, Ciri felt tense about the man. He did pause, noting how both Ciri and Dany had swords, the one at the young Targaryen's hip. "A Valyrian short sword. Been a long time since I've seen such a weapon."

Curious, Daenerys looked to the Warden. "I take some guests to the Council bared such weapons in the past?"

"At times, though they are little more than ordainments to most owners. As backwards as Westeros is, at least the weapons there are used by proper warriors." The Warden commented, nodding his head slightly. "You though carry that sword properly…as a real weapon. Keep it sheathed and we will have no issues." Next he examined Ciri's sword, giving a small 'hum' during his inspection. "Never seen a sword of such design, even among the Valyrian crafts."

"Heh you wouldn't be the first to notice Warden." Ciri replied with a small smirk, one hand brushing the pommel of her blade. "Won this on a gamble during my sellsword days. The previous owner claimed it to be from the far east beyond the Jade Sea." It was the best story she could think over about Zireael, which she hoped the observant Warden didn't pick apart.

"I see." The simply reply had her nervous, but she kept her calm. "You may keep your blade as well." Moving onto Jorah, he'd examine him next. "Westerosi…Northerner. Weapons are fitting of a sellsword but your stance is more professional. A knight?"

"That would be correct Warden. Formerly of House Mormont." He answered back.

"Sadly I know little of the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. However I know most knights are disciplined individuals, so you are allowed entry." Looking to the Bloodrider though, he shook his head at them. "However I will not permit them into the Citadel. I know how loyal a Dothraki can be to those they are sworn other…making them rash when faced with insults."

"Is that so?" One of the Dothraki growled, one hand gripping at his Arakh threateningly. However Rakharo shoved one hand on his fellow rider's arm.

"The Khaleesi is a guest in this city and is expected to obey their customs, thus as her honored warriors we must do the same." He growled to the Bloodrider. "It is no different if an outsider stayed in Vaes Dothrak." His words calmed the fellow warrior, he relaxed his grip before Rakharo move his away.

"Hm…rare to hear wise words from your kind." The Warden muttered. "Your fellow riders will remain outside while you may follow your Khaleesi."

Rakharo only gave a small nod to the Warden before giving a quick order to the remaining Bloodriders who gave grudging nods back as they returned to wait by the carriage. Lastly the Warden moved to the handmaidens carrying the dragons. The young women shifting nervously around the imposing men. Silently, he leaned in to look into one of the wicker cages, Drogon hissing through it at the Warden. "Gods…so they are real." There was real amazement in his word, but he was quick to compose himself. "I hope you'll keep your pets under control Khaleesi."

"My children Warden." Dany replied quite sternly back as she approached the cages. "And like any caring parent, I will not be separated from them. So if you won't allow them entry then the Thirteen will have to meet me at Xaro's palace instead."

The declaration did draw a surprised and nervous look from her noble patron. Even Jorah seemed to not expect such a reaction from her. Ciri though had a small proud smile hinting her lips, liking how Dany making this meeting be on her terms to a degree.

The Warden after a tense moment of silence though nodded. "Of course Khaleesi. Then so long as you keep your dragon far enough from the Council, we'll have no issues." Moving back to the great doors to the citadel, he'd personally push them open for the group. Considering the doorway was made of black iron and fine wood, the man must have had great strength to open it on his own. "This way then honored guests." Gesturing down the ornate hallway, the Warden leading the group forward.

Among the pillars and walls Ciri could see carvings and etchings that depicted many different events of Qarth's history. While some were similar to what was seen throughout the city, here it seemed to be in a roughly chronological order. They would then reach an intersection of halls that split off to the different sections of the citadel, with the way ahead of them having another set of heavy doors watched by more guards. Saluting to the Warden and Daenerys's group, two of the guards grasped the handles of the doors to open the way.

The council chamber itself was not as Ciri expected, being a smaller chamber with a sizable crescent shaped table set at the center. Along the outer side of the table were thirteen seats, each chair regally designed to offer perfect comfort and a show of personal wealth. At the seats were twelve Qarthans, seven men and four women, all lavishly dressed in colorful garb much like Xaro.

"Honored Thirteen. Trade Prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos has arrived along with his honored guests." The Council Warden formally declared, giving a low respectful bow to the group. Xaro nodded to his fellow council members as he moved for his open chair at the table. a few returning it while others muttered about. They eyed Daenerys and Ciri, seeming to have expected the Khaleesi of Dothraki to not look so formal along with having a 'sister' at her side.

Once Xaro was seated, Daenerys stepped forward before the council and gave a short bow. "Thank you honorable Thirteen for inviting me to this gathering. I am Daenerys Targaryen the Stormborn. Khaleesi of the late Khal Drogo, Crosser of the Red Wastes and…" With a small gesture the handmaidens undid the ties to the wicker cages. At once the young dragons crawled out, drawing shocked and amazed remarks from the Qarthan council. The Warden tensed, though didn't interfere as the three dragons approached Dany. Drogon crawling up her back to rest on her shoulder, while Viserion climbed into her arms and lastly Rhaegal curled up close at her right leg. "…The Mother of Dragons."

With her titles given and the impressive display of the dragons, the Thirteen seemed almost at a lost for words. Xaro though had a pleased smirk seeing his fellow council members so shocked. They had no doubt expected a desperate outcast, but instead faced a confident Valyrian. Ciri at this point stepped up beside her 'sister' smirking a bit at the stunned group.

"Sadly I lack any real titles like my sister. However, an introduction is needed for me still." She remarked. "I am Vaera 'Waters' Targaryen. I am the bastard born daughter of King Aerys Targaryen and Shana Goodbrook. I have lived in hiding for all my life, I've come to serve my sister as a protector and adviser, putting my time an experiences to good use."

With the introductions made the Thirteen quietly muttered to each other before the man sitting in the central spot at the crescent shaped table. He was a quite chubby Qarthan, one of the older individuals that made up this council. "I must admit I'm surprised by your introduction sisters…indeed very surprised." He replied formally before giving two sharp claps, making the servants who stood off to the side stand alert. "Servants. Chairs, a table and food for the Targaryens and their dragons. Plenty of fresh meat for the creatures."

"Cook meat please." Dany quickly added. "Dragons prefer their food that way. I'd rather not trouble their appetites." Her tone for that last sentence was a bit chilling, almost as if she was implying someone else may end up as the dragons meal.

Despite that Ciri couldn't help but be amused as the Thirteen gave a small chuckles back, nervousness hinting them. This was going to be quite an interesting discussion…

…

The first hour was quite a drawn out one as the Thirteen would introduce themselves in turn, sharing long complex names and many titles. However they made it clear about this issue, allowing them to speak to them by the titles, Princes or Ladies of their differing trades. Ciri and Dany at least had chairs to sit down while the listened to their council host, feeding the dragons who lodged around them. With formalities finished, a few question questions were asked about Ciri as the Thirteen wished to know the full details of her 'past', leading to her relaying the tale like she had done to Xaro. With her story finished the Thirteen took some time discussing it between themselves before quieting down.

The chubby merchant price who had first spoken to them, the Price of Spices, stood up from his seat. "It seems we underestimated the news about you Khaleesi Daenerys. When word came that the other Khals were hunting for you and that you fled into the Red Wastes, we expected you to be in a more…dire condition."

Daenerys nodded as she offer a piece of meat to Drogon, the black scaled dragon eagerly swallowing the food down. "Indeed. We were only a day into the wasteland when we realized we only had enough water for at best a week. If it wasn't for my sister's timely arrival with water supplies, most of my khalasar would have perished trying to reach Qarth."

"Yet it was your planning that ensured we crossed the Wastes Daenerys." Ciri remarked back. "And considering even supplied armies have failed to cross it, I can say that is an impressive feat."

The Thirteen did mutter in agreement, since they knew well the Red Wastes was their greatest defense from invaders. One female council member in deep red and fine white scarves, the Lady of Wines, spoke up. "And obviously your intentions was to seek refuge within our city. If Xaro hadn't been informed of your approach, you most likely would have been turned away at our gates."

"That is hasty of you to suggest Lady of Wines." Xaro politely argue. "We boast about being an open and civilized city, yet you speak of refusing the first Valyrian to own true dragons in a nearly two centuries."

"And I fully agree." One Qarthan remarked. Dressed in an outfit made of color pelts and fine leathers, it was fitting garb for the Prince of Beasts. "Just to see such magnificent creatures walk the world once more. They are truly…priceless."

"Whatever the case, Daenerys is under Xaro's care. Our Prince of Silks will share any consequence if trouble does come." The Price of Spices muttered, eyeing the dark-skinned man sternly. "So let us get to the true matter, what do you plan to do from here Khaleesi?"

For a moment Daenerys remained silent as she let that question hang in the air, looking over the Thirteen. "I plan to take back what is rightfully mine. The Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms."

"Hmm…a bold claim." The youngest female member of the council, her face partly hidden by a black vale, the Lady of Words. "From what my distant ears have told me, Westeros is indeed facing great chaos. Its Kingdoms and Houses divided as they scramble for control. A perfect time for you to bring order."

"Bah! This is why the ladies aren't involved in matters of war!" A scarred faced Thirteen muttered out. Out of the whole group he was the most muscular, shown well under the deep green and blue clothing he wore, along with having a saber rested on the table in front of him. "As the Prince of Blades, I understand what is needed in conquest. True three dragons would crush any army, but I'm sure it will take years until their matured and trained properly for battle." He'd slam his fist on the table. "You need skilled armies, a fleet and bulk supplies for such an invasion. All of which require allies and gold."

"Which is why we're here today." Ciri coyly replied. "Because you all may have a chance of funding and supporting our cause."

The Thirteen glanced at each other, a few low chuckles and shaking heads shared between them. "Lady Vaera, we are patrons of business. We didn't gain our wealth and success through blind investment…which in your case be a high one." The Prince of Spices politely explained. "If you had connections and backing within Westeros, we may see the potential…but I certainly don't at the moment."

Despite the blunt answer Daenerys kept a small soft smile on her face. "And I do not blame you. Indeed to support me would be quite risky…yet very rewarding." She then paused. "Which is why my kind host Xaro wishes to fully support me through marriage."

The reveal had the Thirteen quickly become silent, all twelve members glanced to the lone merchant prince. Despite the shared news, the dark-skinned man kept calm as he stared back. "She speaks the truth."

"As expected…rash ambitions…" The Prince of Spices muttered.

With this new detailed shared though had the Thirteen spoke in Qarthan, seeming to be debating on the matter. It seemed that Gaunter's advise had been right about the Council having second thoughts when they heard of Xaro's interest of marriage with the young Targaryen.

"I have an offer coming to mind. Ten strong ships manned by professional crews along with enough coin to pay and supply whatever mix of slave and mercenary soldiers to fight on your behalf." The Prince of Beasts offered. "In exchange, I'd like to have one of your dragons. I promise I'd care for the creature properly thanks to records I have collected over the years."

It was quite a grand offer to promise, yet the suggestion made Dany's hand grip the arm of her chair sharply. "Good Prince. What you suggested would be as if I asked you to sell your own child to me so I may put them in a zoo." She coldly answered. "Even if you could hand me the Iron Throne, it and the Seven Kingdoms are no where close to the worth of my children." Drogon even gave a low hiss as he seemed to understand the beast trader's intentions. "Besides, I doubt even you could tame any of my dragons."

The man had a nervous look show on his face from the way Drogon hissed at him, but his gaze did have an annoyed look hinting it. "I meant no disrespect Khaleesi."

"So then how do you plan to bargain with us Khaleesi?" The Prince of Spices formally questioned. "Beyond your…children…you have nothing valuable enough to afford our support."

"At least in the short term." Jorah spoke up, the first time the knight had spoken during the meeting. "With due respect, you all seem to be ignoring the long-term gains. While you all may see Westeros as a backwater nation, it's a land ripe with resources and luxuries that no other land has to offer."

"The Northerner has a fair point." Remarked a Thirteen with large bi-speckled glasses over his eyes, the Prince of Crafts. "I remember getting a sample of black colored wood which was as tough as metal and could sit in a fire pit yet never burn."

"Aye…Iron wood. I doubt there is a tougher wood in all of the world." Jorah confirmed. "Really every part of the Seven Kingdoms has a prized commodity that isn't broadly traded with the Free Cities. If the Khaleesi was made queen, then Qarth would have full trade between both far west and east."

"Then there are practical matters we could support Qarth in. Despite your wealth and connections you no doubt have troubles with outlaw groups such as the pirates of the Stepstones, Basilisk Isles and rogue groups." Ciri added. "Even an experienced mercenary company be hard pressed in wiping out such troublesome raiders. In a few years my sister's Dragons could make short work of them."

"Just getting the head of Crow's Eye be a benefit to us. That damned Iron Islander is a true demon of the seas." The Lady of Wines muttered. "A few years ago he raided one of our largest ships which had a massive order of Shade of the Evening. Enough to supply the Warlocks for a few years, but for an individual it could last decades."

"That one man and his small fleet has cost the cities of Essos a fortune." The Prince of Blades remarked in agreement. "Ending him would send a clear message to all the pirate groups." Pausing in thought, the man looked at Daenerys. "If you'd also be willing to increase Westeros's ships to guard the Narrow Sea, I would be open to possibly supporting you."

"A reasonable request." Dany politely responded with a small smile.

"Let's not be too hasty to agree on such matters though." The Prince of Spices spoke up. "If Qarth is to officially back you Khaleesi, we need time to vote as-" However, the sudden creak of the chamber doors silenced the man along with drawing every gaze to the large doorway.

Two individuals, a young man and woman, dressed in fine black and silver clothes had opened the doorway for a third figure which everyone quickly recognized as Pyat. The bald warlock gave respectful nods to his younger companions before striding into the council chamber. Already the Thirteen muttered about, seeming to not be expecting this sudden arrival. Even their Warden was tense, one hand seeming to drift closer to his weapon.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion Pyat! If you had wished to be involved in this gathering you should have been here from the start." The Prince of Spices demanded sternly.

Pyat kept that calm expression as he'd move to stand between Daenerys's party and the Thirteens table, giving a low sweeping bow to both. "I apologize honorable Thirteen. The Grand Warlock wished of me to come in due haste so that he may speak with the Targaryens.

The Prince of Blades scoffed at the man's words. "Well I don't see your wise master with you…so you might have to explain how he'll speak from the other side of the city." The jest drew amused chuckles from the council table, except from Xaro who was silent.

"Amusing sir." By now the two younger warlocks flanked their master, the man on the left and the woman on the right. Pyat then drew out a small crystal bottle from his robes which contained an inky blue fluid. "Yet my master has enough power to commune in…indirect ways."

Opening the bottle, Ciri frowned as her sharp nose caught quite a distasteful scent, something similar to rotting flesh. Despite the smell, Pyat calmly tipped the bottle to his lips, the fluid flowing down it as thickly as honey until emptied out. With one deep swallow the bald man gave a tremble before bowing his head low, while his two student warlocks placed their hands on his shoulders. Both began speak yet no words could be heard from their lips. Pyat's head started to lull about, swaying as if following some unheard music. Then it suddenly snapped up to face everyone, eyes rolled back as he seemed to be in some deep trance. Slowly his white gaze scanned about the room, going across the unsettled Thirteen and Daenerys's curious group. The warlocks gaze stopped at Ciri and Dany, a kindly smile crossing his lips.

" _Daenerys Stormborn. The Mother of Dragons. Khaleesi of the Exiled."_ The voice that spoke those words was not that of Pyat. It was smooth and relaxed; each word clear a water which made it oddly soothing to listen to. _"Varea Targaryen. Slayer of Blood. Visenya Reborn."_

Ciri recognized the name Visenya from Dany's stories about her family. A fierce female warrior, skilled dragon rider and sister wife to Aegon the Conqueror. It was a humbling comparison considering the past Targaryen's accomplishments, though she hoped that she wouldn't face a slow death at the hands of a withering sickness.

"A humbling title for me Grand Warlock. My line of work doesn't exactly earn much in names or praises." She remarked back.

The possessed Pyat gave a quite whimsical chuckle of amusement in response. _"I think you underestimate just how many you have and will earn many more throughout your life."_ The knowing words did have Ciri shift slightly, though the warlock didn't seem to notice.

"While an interesting discussion, I do have a question for you…Grand Warlock." Dany asked, a bit hesitant on who exactly she was addressing. "I am curious to know what your name is beyond just a title. After all we've heard much about you, though its hard to untangle rumor from truth."

" _A wise question but one I can't openly answer so publicly."_ The voice politely answered with an apologetic frown. _"I come here with an a clear offer of aid…not vague promises and bargains. I offer the wisdom of ages and true magical power…things that can't be attained by money or politics."_

"You want nothing in return?" Dany questioned.

Pyat bowed low in response. _"Being a part of history is reward enough. My life and the creation of the Warlock order has been to further the knowledge of magic…which has faded for far too long."_ Pyat then gave a low groan, body twitching suddenly. _"Ugh…but sadly that story is for another time. Know this ladies of destiny that the House of the Undying will welcome you if you need it."_ Sharply his head snapped up to then stare at the Thirteen. _"Be weary of your hosts. Their deals and promises are like poisoned honey…alluring yet insidious. Fear…greed…petty emotions that…ugh…"_

That cold rant was cut short as Pyat trembled, eyes rolling forward before he became limp. The two younger warlocks supported their master, heads bowed low in ritual like respect. "The link has been stressed. The Grand Warlock and Master Pyat have exhausted themselves." The male mystic explained.

"Heed the Master's words fair sisters. This is the age of change…one that you will bring to all of the world." The female mystic added before she and her male twin dragged away the unconscious warlock out of the room and down the long hallway out of the citadel.

The council chamber was dead silent for a long while until Jorah at last gave a small cough. "Well…that was an eccentric performance."

"Quite…and unwelcomed." The Prince of Spices muttered. "I don't know what trickery Pyat or his students are trying to pull, but such disrespect will not be overlooked."

"I believe we've discussed enough for now. It has been a long day for the sisters and there will be plenty of time to focus on how we as a group can support them." Xaro remarked, drawing a few nods of agreement from the other Thirteen.

Dany bowed her head in understanding. "Then we'll take our leave for now." Standing up, the handmaidens approached with the wicker cages, letting Daenerys carefully put her dragons back into them. "Thank you all for allowing this meeting and that we will speak again soon."

"Likewise Khaleesi." The Prince of Spices politely responded. "Until another gathering is called for, enjoy exploring splendors of Qarth."

With that formal dismissal, Ciri would stand up from her seat as well and followed Daenerys out of the chamber with the rest of their group close behind. Right now her mind was thinking over what had happened with Pyat being in that trance along with the message given by supposed the Grand Warlock. Her pace slowed as they moved down the hall, making Daenerys pause in her walk.

"I know that look. You're worried about what Pyat said."

"Or the Grand Master. I've seen possession magic before, though this required more effort to do." Ciri answered. "The fact is between the Warlocks, the Thirteen and Xaro…I'm starting to think coming to Qarth was a mistake."

Dany sighed, shaking her head slightly. "You know we had no other choice. I know the politics and intrigue is troublesome, but we'll weave through it."

Ciri didn't answer as she'd gaze back to the council chamber, the doors being closed by the waiting guards. Before they slammed shut, she could see the many stares of the Thirteen watching them…gazes that she knew all too well from her experience. "Whatever the case…I feel we're more of prisoners in this city and we that truly can't trust anyone but ourselves…"

Daenerys gaze had a worried hint hearing those words, knowing it was best to trust Ciri's judgement. Without a word they both continued on down the hall, eager to return to Xaro's palace and enjoy a proper bed…just to forget the many worries on their thoughts.

…

 **Notice: Well this has been a delayed chapter, however the last season of Game of Thrones along with a prolonged cold has slowed me down. I can say the end of the show was…disappointing really. While the actors and dedicated cast put so much effort into their work, the writing was what truly pulled the show down. I won't say much more on that, but you can discus more on the Fanfic forum I've set up through my profile.**

 **Anyway I feel more dedicated then ever to doing this crossover. As a fan of both the show and book, I want to give it the story the setting deserves. We still have a long way to go, but over the last few weeks I've gotten a massive surge of supporters which has been truly touching for me. I promise I'll continue to strive for quality content no matter what. I am also amazed that we're nearly at 1,900 followers and 1,600 favorites!**

 **That aside, for those who don't keep track on the forums or my profile, the Fan Raman podcast has come out a few weeks ago with my interview having been released only a few days ago. You can listen to the podcast at Fan Raman's Youtube channel, website, SoundCloud or ITunes. The interview currently is only available on their website, SoundCloud or ITunes. Overall the team at Fan Raman have done a fantastic job, so please go check out these two episodes. Everything is completely free, like and share whatever you see.**

 **As always please review or seen me a PM if you have anything to comment on or join the White Wolf of Westeros here on Fanfiction. As a Fandom, its better that we engage as a community to share our theories and opinions to such an amazing setting. Overall thank you all for reading and supporting this crossover! See you next chapter!**


	34. S2-E10: Stern Stag and Young Wolf

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Stern Stag and Young Wolf**

 **Forward: Editing and proof reading done by Rainsfere.**

…

Geralt looked over his silver blade, having just finished cleaning and sharpening the weapon, maintaining it despite it's lack of use. He wanted all his gear to be in top condition today since they were about to arrive at White Harbor. On the top deck he could hear the crew busy guiding the Fury towards the harbor. Beyond the noises on the ship, he could hear the many bells of the port city ringing, announcing King Stannis' arrival.

"A momentous day for sure." He muttered to himself as he sheathed his sword and stood up, slinging it across his back before adding the steel sword with it. He made sure to pull out the white wolf cloak as well, both because of the cooler air and the occasion involved. Leaving his cabin, Geralt could see the rest of his companions having finished preparing themselves for the day as everyone was gathering in the mess hall.

He'd quickly pick out Arya, Sansa and Barristan among the group, approaching them first. Barristan dressed in his usual mix of plain cloth and mix of armor, preferring practicality over formal clothing. Then again the Witcher doubted the man had packed anything else even after his stay on Dragonstone.

Sansa had chosen a fine black and silver trim dress, fitting for the formal gathering that was to take place and in the mourning respect to her father. Arya also had a gown, which she shuffled slightly in annoyance, having become so used to her Witcher styled outfit and boys clothing. Her favored armor and Needle were bundled up in her arms, which she held closely to her chest.

"Doing alright you two?" Geralt asked the Stark sisters, both giving quick nods to him.

"I'm happy that I'll get to see Robb again, though I'm nervous to be meeting all the other Lords of the North as well." Sansa quietly answered. "I need to do my part to convince them that Stannis is a good man to ally with and ensure a better future for our kingdom."

"Even if one House can be swayed by your words would be considered beneficial to the cause Lady Sansa." Barristan assured her, making a small welcomed smile cross her lips.

"And what about you Arya? I know you don't like wearing a dress, but this is an important occasion." Geralt asked the younger Stark.

"I know and I promise I will behave." She quickly replied back. "Just…I heard the others talking about a…service being held for father later tonight. I heard they can't have it at the Godswood though."

"Why is that?"

"Because the only Godswood is within the Wolf's Den, an ancient fortress turned prison. While Eddard followed the Old Gods, a prison isn't a suitable place to mourn for him." Barristan explained. "I may not understand the beliefs of the Northerners, but I feel it is a shame."

"That is kind of you Ser." Sansa thanked, nodding respectfully to the old knight.

"I'm sure both of you will have a few words about him when that time comes." Geralt kindly stated. "Anyway, I want to check up with the others before we dock. I'll see you all soon."

Giving parting nods, Geralt moved along down the Mess Hall to where his companions were. Thoros, Beric and Syrio were grouped together with the loyalists from King's Landing, all seeming to be in a serious discussion. When they noticed the Witcher approaching, they quieted down as friendly smiles and respectful nods were given.

"Heh, about time you come and see us. You've been keeping to yourself ever since the pirates." Thoros remarked.

"Just wanted a little privacy. Between the alliance meeting and war plans, I doubt I'll have much time to be by myself."

Beric nodded in understanding. "He has a point Red Priest. Everyone at this gathering will be vying for the Witcher's attention." Pausing for a moment, he'd continue to speak. "That said, we do have a small matter to discuss about what we plan to do afterwards. We've all agreed that we plan to stay with Lord Robb to matter the outcome of the meeting."

"How come? You after all support Stannis' right to the Iron Throne."

"True, yet I still feel obligated to serve Lord Robb because my promises to Eddard. If conflict somehow breaks out between the young Stark and the King, I will place myself on a neutral role."

"And what about you Thoros?" Geralt then questioned.

"Heh, you remember what I've said Witcher. I plan to go where you go. Besides the fact that all the best fights happen wherever you go, we make an unstoppable team after what we pulled off a few nights back." The priest laughed out. "Besides I owe you again considering. Wasn't for you, I'd be at the bottom of the Narrow Sea if you didn't catch me."

"I say we're even after how much you've been watching my back." He chuckled back, the others laughing a bit in agreement. "I'll admit I'm not sure what path I'll take after tonight, but I won't refuse your company. Besides, I bet you'll just follow me no matter what I say."

"Hah! Damn right I will." Thoros boasted out before giving a firm pat on the Witcher's shoulder.

Syrio smirked a bit at the Red Priest's boastfulness. "While I do support Stannis's cause, I still feel I'd be out of past fighting on the battlefield and offer little in politics." He remarked. "I am set to returning home to pursue other matters."

Geralt remembered well his request to the duelist to go to Essos and search for Ciri. He could tell the man was set on that promise from the focused look he gave the Witcher. It be a long undertaking, though Geralt knew the Braavosi was the best suited for his adopted daughter. Before any more banter could be shared, the ringing of the deck bells could be heard above along with a sailor yelling out.

"APPROACHING WHITE HARBOR!"

With the notice given, everyone in the Mess Hall was quick to file up the stairs to the deck itself, eager to see the Northern Port city. From Geralt's knowledge it was the fifth biggest city in Westeros and the largest within the North. Indeed it was quite a fair looking port city, it's smooth stone buildings and clear cobbled streets all made up of fine white stone. Plenty of small ships were sailing about, being directed by harbor men to ensure the Fury had a clear route and spot for the imposing warship. The most interesting landmark leading into the harbor itself was a massive rock that had the tip half chiseled to be a mix of a watch and signaling station. All along the rough edge were countless seals, the creatures yarping and bellowing as the ship drifted by. Arya and Sansa couldn't help but giggle as the creatures milled about or drifted curiously by the ship.

With the Fury nearing the main pier, a large stoneway set in the middle of the harbor, everyone could see a large party waiting for them. Stark Bannermen were at the ready, holding up banners of the snarling direwolf. Alongside it there were other banners for other major Houses of the North, a show of just how much support Robb had. Much like why Stannis brought the Fury as a show of his personal strength, the sizable procession of soldiers was Robb's in show of power. Geralt knew that the young Warden of the North needed to impress the aspiring king and ensure fair terms were set between them.

The crew on the ship and workers on the docks worked together to have the Fury come to a stop and get it tied up to the stone pier. By this point Geralt saw Stannis walk down from the wheel with Davos close beside him. Stannis continued with his choice of practical noble garb, sticking with the usual choice of gray, black and silver colors. Davos at least had picked out finer clothes for the day, though suitable for his role as captain. Melisandre be waiting by where the gangplank is being lowered, the red-haired woman dressed in a full covering crimson robe with the hood up.

With the plank lowered the three would disembark first while Sansa, Arya, Barristan and Geralt followed. The rest of the Witcher's companions followed after along with a group of knights serving Stannis who carried a smooth black wood coffin, Eddard's coffin along with one knight carrying Ice wrapped up in fine dark cloth.

At last they'd near the end of the pier, seeing Robb himself at the front of the welcome party. For the Witcher it was quite striking to see the young male Stark after so long…and the fact that he did seem very strikingly like his father with him wearing the garb of the Warden. Beside the stoic young man was Grey Wind, the smoke grey direwolf sitting alertly beside his master. Those bright yellow eyes drifted over the approaching group, lingering a bit on the Witcher and then Stannis, almost as if trying to judge the aspiring king's intentions. Also standing alongside Robb was Theon, the dashing Iron Islander seeming alert for trouble. Considering the proper set of fine leather and chain armor, Robb had promoted him to champion styled role.

Soon, Stannis and Robb stood face to face, youthful lord staring down the stern king. Everyone was silent, a true tension lingering in the windy air.

"King Stannis Baratheon." Robb spoke up, voice strong and formal, head bowing low in respect. "It is an honor to meet you in person, despite it being during a time of war." He offered one hand out for the man to shake.

"Likewise, Lord Robb." Stannis simply stated, seeming pleased to be stated by his rightful title. Reaching out, he firmly shook hands with the Stark. His stern gaze did look to the lords surrounding Robb, noting the judging looks they gave him. "We have much to discuss, both between you and your bannermen. However, we can delay for a few minutes…" He'd shift aside, clearing the way for Robb to gaze at his sisters. The young man's serious expression faltered as he stared at his siblings, unable to keep that focused composure. "Safe and cared for as I have said. Let this show I keep promises dutifully."

Sansa stepped forward, fiddling her hands together as she'd give a soft smile to him. "Hello Robb…" At that point Arya stepped up beside her, grinning back…though at the same time seeming to be holding back tears too. It seemed despite their calm on the boat, seeing their brother was drawing out bottled up emotions.

"Sansa…Arya…" He'd step forward, both sisters doing the same as he quickly embraced them both. Both girls gave happy sobs as they clung to him. It was a touching moment to see the siblings reunited after over a month of trauma and loss. After a long moment, Robb loosened his hold over his sisters, muttering in a hush whispers as they quickly discussed what had played out. His gaze did look to Geralt and his companions then back to Stannis, nodding in understanding. "Words cannot express my gratitude for keeping my sisters safe your grace."

"Simple respect will do for now Lord Stark, however if anyone should be praised, it should be the men beside me." Stannis gestured to Geralt and his group, the Witcher stepping forward.

"Its been a while Robb." He simply greeted, not minding with titles.

"Heh and your ever as blunt Witcher." Robb chuckled as he strongly clasped hand on the Witcher's shoulder, sharing a short embrace with him. "When I learned of what happened in the capital, I knew only you could pull off a rescue like this."

"Didn't did it alone." Barristan, Thoros, Beric and Syrio stepping forward now, all four giving short bows to the Warden. "Lost a lot of good men along the way as well. Their bravery deserves true respect."

"Agreed. There will be plenty of time to honor them tonight." Robb then turned to face Geralt's companions. "I can say I recognize a few faces here…heh…though from wanted posters sadly." The jest did draw small laughs from the group, even Stannis having a small smirk. "I want to thank each of you personally for saving my sisters and know that I'll see you recognized and rewarded for your efforts."

"It was simply the right thing to do Lord Stark." Barristan replied back formally. "I only wish we could have saved-"

"Do not worry about that. We can mourn another time." Robb quickly interrupted, his gaze drifting to the coffin at the back of the group. A pain look hinting his eyes, yet he buried the emotion as he looked to Stannis. "As Warden of the North I invite you all to New Castle of House Manderly. Lord Wyman is preparing a feast for tonight in your honor King Stannis. Until then, we will have plenty of time to discus the terms of our alliance.

"While I am not much for feasts and parties, I can't deny I'm craving for more than dried food after our voyage. Besides I've heard Lord Wyman has fine taste when it comes to food." Stannis remarked in dry sarcasm.

"The best in fact!" Greatjon remarked with a chuckle as already the two noble parties began their walk into the port city. The white cobbled streets made travel easy even on foot as they'd be guided to the pale stone castle set on the overlooking hill. "You know how we enjoy lively company here in the North. Your brother understood that well, gods rest his soul."

The comparison did make Stannis narrow his eyes. "True. He enjoyed all the merriment, though got little done because of such distractions. Wine and roasted boar won't solve our problems Lord Umber, pacts and action will."

That response did have the large Northerner glare, a grudging annoyance at the Stormlander's directness. "We shall see…your grace."

The rest of the walk was silent, beyond huddled whispers between the Northern lords. Geralt's sharp ears could pick out words, distasteful ones considering. It seemed Davos hadn't been exaggerating how other nobles saw the stern Baratheon. This wasn't about convincing Robb to support Stannis, but to sway the other Lords after all.

At last they'd reach the stairway that lead up to New Castle and split off towards the Wolf's Den prison set along the same hillside. At the castle gateway were House Manderly guards, who were dressed in cloaked uniforms of blue-green colors and armed with silver tridents, matching of the House's colors and merman image.

"Make way for the King and Warden!" One guard yelled, signaling for the portcullis to be raised and the heavy doorway opened from inside the keep. The entrance hall felt more like a museum to the Witcher as all around where a collection of relics hanging on the walls or locked up in glass displays. Rusted swords, battered shields, faded banners and aged ship pieces. A physical history of House Manderly's long existence. However, despite all of the curiosities set around the room, Arya and Sansa were more focused on the people waiting to greet them.

"Bran! Rickon!" Sansa remarked joyfully as she hurried over to her two younger brothers who also had their direwolves beside them.

Maester Luwin and Bran had been examining a ship figurehead, the Stark Maester seeming to be talking about its history. Hodor stood by the young cripple, the dull-minded giant looking at the Stark sisters with a goofy grin and murmuring his name. Bran had been listening intently while gently petting Summer's head, while Rickon distracted himself by playfully clinging to Shaggydog. It was amusing considering the black furred wolf was nearly double the size of the youngest Stark, seeming unfazed when his master nearly climbed on top of his back.

"Sansa…Arya. I knew you'd come back soon." Bran cheerfully greeted, yelping a bit as both sisters hugged him, sliding his wheelchair back from their joyful embrace.

"Sisters!" The normally quiet Rickon was also happy to see them, hugging Arya from the side.

"Wonderful to see you both safe and sound my ladies." Luwin formally greeted, a kind smile on his aged face.

It was quite heartening to see the Stark siblings fully reunited, making the tension from earlier fade slightly and bring a softer look in Stannis' eyes. Geralt knew in the back of his mind such a reunion would have been delayed for many years if he hadn't saved Sansa and Arya, with some people forever lost for such a moment.

"Joyful to see a family reunited" A deep voice chuckled out from one of the main branching hallways, drawing everyone's attention. Standing at the large archway was perhaps the fattest man Geralt had ever seen, double in weight than even Robert. It wasn't hard to guess by the sea teal finery with a merman on the front, that this was Lord Wyman himself. To support his fat form, he had a thick walking stick made out black wood, which seemed unbending even when the heavy lord put his full weight on it with every other step.

"King Stannis, let me introduce to you the venerable Lord Wyman Manderly." Robb remarked formally.

"Thank you for hosting this important gathering Lord Wyman." The two men firmly shook hands, the fat lord giving a small grin.

"The honor is mine your grace. I can say I've had a high respect for you after your exploits during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Heh…was a tad thinner back then, but I saw what you did crushing those stubborn raids with that warship of yours."

"Fascinating as it is to reminisce on the past, it would be best that we focus on the present." A calm cold voice spoke up from behind Wyman. Even the fat lord seemed to freeze up as a pale skinned man stood beside him. At a glance the Witcher thought he was looking at a blood drained corpse, considering how the lord was lacking any lively color to his skin. Even his piercing blue eyes seemed empty, devoid of any real emotion as he looked over the group. "I am sorry to intrude, but everyone waiting at the meeting are eager to get started. Pleasantries can wait afterwards."

"Blunt as ever Lord Bolton…but true." Robb replied. "Just give me a moment to speak to my siblings."

"Of course my Lord." With that, Roose slipped away back down the hall, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

"Ugh…that man is unsettling." Wyman muttered. "Anyway if you let me show the way…" Manderly was quick to lead everyone down the hall after Roose, though Geralt lingering to speak with the Starks.

"Guess this is where we part ways." He said to Sansa and Arya.

"Not for me." Sansa quickly spoke up. "I had my part in convincing Stannis to be here, so I should be at the meeting still."

Robb was silently in thought, seeming ready to argue back. Yet seeing the sharp look in the young woman's eyes had him sigh and chuckle. "Seems you got a bit of mother's sharp wit in you after all. Very well, you can take part in the talks."

Giving a quick nod, she'd quickly give a short kiss on top of Bran's head before quietly saying something to him. Sharing a short hug with Rickon, she'd then hurry off down the hallway to rejoin the group.

"I'll be staying here with the others." Arya spoke up. "I…I think I've had my fill of politics after the last few weeks."

"Heh…no one can blame you." Geralt chuckled. "Besides, I bet you have plenty of stories to share with everyone."

"I can say I'm eager to hear them." Bran agreed with a small smile. "In fact Geralt…later I have something I need to talk about with you…something I think you'll understand."

"We've discussed this Bran. Those dreams…it can be simply the stress of your injuries." Ludwin calmly replied, trying to dismiss the matter.

Bran didn't answer back to the Maester, seeming unsure about the matter. "We will after the meeting." Geralt answered back. "At the least, talking about it may help."

The boy nodded in understanding before shifting the wheels of his chair. "Alright. Anyway come on Rickon, let's get some food while we wait for the feast." With the youngest Stark nodding, the group began to move on down one of the hallways. Luwin gave a respectful nod as he passed and Arya gave a short wave before disappearing from sight.

For the moment, Geralt and Robb were alone as they'd begin to walk in the direction where the meeting was to be held. "Seeing them together does ease my worries. You have no idea how stressful its been to be composed while knowing they were out of reach."

"As gruff as Stannis may be, he has cared for your sisters respectfully and put their safety over everything else." Geralt assured. "Having him as an ally will hasten this war and save more lives on your side. You can't deny that the North prefer most of their men to return safely."

"Aye…yet I'm expected to do more than that." Robb calmly stated, reminding the Witcher of the North's interest in becoming independent once more.

"You're the Warden of the North. You are expected to listen to the needs of your people…yet remember that such choices have their price." With them nearing the doorway to the meeting hall, they could already hear noisy voices beyond it. "Trust me…after today you'll long for the battlefield then for politics." He jested before grasping the handle of the doorway.

Robb could only smirk in amusement before nodding, the Witcher opening the way for them both. As soon as they entered the yammering quickly silenced and every gaze was drawn to them. Quickly, mutterings of 'my lord' and 'lord Stark' drifted through the air as Robb stepped forward. Geralt was close behind, drawing hushed words as the many nobles at last got to see him in person.

In the center of the big room was a large table with a wide map of Westeros on top of it, tactical pieces cluttered about the fabric. It gave a vague idea on the differing factions positions and numbers, with the lion pieces being split between the north in the Riverlands and the south nearby King's Landing.

"I didn't expect you'd all be debating before I returned." Robb calmly stated, looking about the gathering.

Stannis nodded, the man and his retinue having taken up one side of the table, with him leaning over examining the map. "Your lords were quick to argue about my role in all of this. Some feel my legitimacy means nothing to them." He simply stated.

"Because in the end it doesn't to us…your 'grace'." One large and gaunt lord replied. "House Karstark is tired of our kingdom being drawn into these bloody politics and conflicts the lands of the south keep scheming up. By backing your claim we could be leading ourselves to another lifetime of political tensions."

Low remarks of agreement followed as Robb moved to stand at the head of the table, being silent as he let his lords voice their opinions. Stannis was also quiet, seeming to be in the same mindset of the young Warden.

"Some also believe your efforts protecting the Starks was simply for politic and bargaining power, not of a good intentions." Roose stated. "Even having Ice and Lord Eddard's body could be seen as items to trade for Lord Robb's favor, to influence his decisions for the North."

No one else spoke up, showing that Boltons and Karstarks were the most vocal individuals against Stannis. "Aye…both of those are good arguments against me." The Baratheon stated. "Yet when it comes to politics, I don't share the same interests as men like Lord Tywin or my brother Renly. The title of nobility, lordship and king are marks of duty…not just stations of selfish power."

"So you claim that you want the Iron Throne out of a sense of duty?" Greatjon questioned curiously, a few chuckles at the ideal.

"There are two things that put ones name in the history books. The ones who bring order and progress…then those who bring chaos and stagnation." Stannis stated. "Joffrey obviously is the latter. He sentenced Lord Eddard to death, threatened his daughters and now demands fealty from all of you because he assumes to be my late brother's son."

He let that all sink in, no one arguing on that statement.

"Say you do win this war. You storm King's Landing or whatever hole the Lannisters choose to hide in. You kill or imprison Joffrey, Tywin and the lot…then what? You march home and declare yourselves independent from the rest of Westeros?" He shook his head. "That is short sighted."

"Are you mocking us now?!" Karstark growled, getting up close in Stannis's face who remained unfazed.

"No I'm being realistic." He calmly stated. "Perhaps Renly will allow it out of gratitude…but what about his successor…well…if he ever has one."

The dry jest did draw small laughs, since few did know of the rumors of the youngest Baratheon's romantic preferences. A sharp glare from Lord Rickard silenced the amusement. "We'll defend what is ours, no matter the odds." He boldly stated.

"Perhaps. Maybe the North can ward off an attack for a generation or two…but would you want your children, grand children and great grand children with the threat of war?" He paused to let that sink in. "And what if the threat isn't from the south? What if one day the Ironborn become more organized to invade your coasts? What if the greed of Essos desires your resources, sailing with armies of mercenaries? What if the Wildlings beyond the Wall do find a way through and you face their countless thousands? You will have no one but yourselves to face these threats."

With all those threats listed, the voices muttered, Geralt picking up about 'Wilding reports' and 'movement beyond the Wall'. It seemed that much has been happening since he had left the North, the Wildling threat no doubt growing worse.

"Beyond that, there is also the threat of winter. The farms of the North can't support its population without trading food from more fertile kingdoms. From what history shows, you still lose thousands of lives over the long winter interest. Without lands like the Reach produce the majority of food for Westeros, the North's situation be far more dire. By separating, the cost of trading for food will only become more costly and limited. He'd pause for a moment before continuing. "Considering how the wind seems chillier than usual…that grim season is no doubt years away.

No one argued against that last statement. If anyone understood out Westeros' long winters come and go, it would be the Northerners.

"So what can you promise to do for us then if we support you as King?" Bolton questioned. "We all have requests in mind…but I am curious to know what you as an individual can suggest."

Geralt understood what the two lords were doing. Karstark played out the more brash and military aspect of the North in argument of independence, while Bolton the political side of it. They were testing to see how the Baratheon presented himself.

"For one, I will look to all of you as prospective members of my Small Council." He'd gesture to Davos who stood beside him. "Lord Seaworth currently manages as my Master of Ships and in a way as my Hand as well."

The remark did draw surprised look from Davos who bowed his head humbly. "That is kind that you say your grace. I strive to do my best in serving."

Stannis did gave a faint smile back to the sea captain before continuing to speak. "Join with me and fill my Council. I want men who know their roles…who will do their best to serve all the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Prove your capability and I will select you." Already a few nobles seemed tempted by this prospect, though Stannis continued. "Then there are other official matters. Taxes to the kingdom can be lower and extra funding from the capital to improve the territory." He'd then trace one finger along the map, going along the King's Road as if drawing new lines across it. "Imagine strong clear roads, linking your holds and communities. The flow of trade would expand to both the east and western coasts."

"Heh and that I can agree with!" Lord Wyman boasted out. "As wealthy as White Harbor is, our current roads linking back west are the best designed. Though I wonder…how do you plan to secure the western seas?"

"Hm…you mean with the Iron Isles in the way?" Stannis muttered, hand drifting over the lonely collection of islands on the map. "Simple, I'll give them a choice. They end their raiding and focus their talents to productive use for Westeros…or they we be crushed." He glared sharply at the threat. "Unlike my brother they will not have mercy from me."

A pleased chuckle came from the crowd as short, stout woman stepped forward. Each step made the ringed chainmail and spiked mace at her hip sway about, though despite her grayed age handled the weight with ease. Beside her was a tall and quite fair woman, dressed in fine leather and deep green tunic with the mark of a rearing bear across it. Much like the older woman, she too carried a fearsome mace at her hip as well.

"That is a promise I can get behind." The older woman fiercely grinned, slamming one fist hard on the table. "If anyone has issues with those Ironborn, it's House Mormont. We all can agree Stannis be the right man to put them in their place…because he's already done that before!" Again she'd laugh out, drawing the same from her followers.

"Wise of you to agree Lady Maege." Stannis nodded in respect. "When this conflict is over I'll be sure to share a part of the fleet to strengthen Bear Island."

The younger Mormont, Dacey, grinned at the promise. "Heh it will be fun seeing the looks on their faces with ballista aimed at their long boats."

At this point many of the gathered nobility were speaking openly to each other over these prospecting ideas. It seemed they didn't expect Stannis to present clear and reasonable plans in strengthening the North. Even the stubborn Rickard and Greatjon gave no argument. Lord Bolton was silent and showed no real reaction. Geralt had to admit he was surprised by this as well but pleased by it.

"Then it seems settled." Robb at last spoke up. "King Stannis has made himself clear on how he plans to rule and I'm sure over time we can iron out any deeper details for the future." Many muttered and nodded in agreement. "So I, Lord Robb Stark, Lord Paramount of the North and Warden of the North declare my support to King Stannis Baratheon, first of his name."

There was a long pause after this official declaration, silence following. This was the most critical moment, to see who would rally to this alliance.

Suddenly, Sansa spoke up. "I…I Sansa Stark support King Stannis." She'd stepped forward beside her brother, a determined look in her eyes. "The land needs someone of his honor and justice. Values he'll follow no matter what!"

The silence lingered, gazes looking around as everyone silently milled over her words.

"Bah! Have all your balls dropped and you've lost your words?!" Maege growled out with a smirk. "I Lady Maege Mormont pledge my support to King Stannis. The warriors of Bear Island will fight alongside him!"

Greatjon bellowed out at her claim, shaking his head. "Hah! You think you'll outmatch House Umber on the battlefield?" The giant of a man slammed his fist down on the table, rattling it fiercely. "Lord Jon Umber of House Umber declares his support to King Stannis."

"Hah, glad to see that fire in you Greatjon!" Wyman laughed out, cracking the end of his cane to the floor. "I Lord Wyman of House Manderly pledge my support to King Stannis. White Harbor will gladly support your fleet and offer any ships you require."

Rickard huffed at his fellow lords, huffing a bit before looking at Stannis. "Heh…you're a lot smarter than I thought your grace." He muttered. "Can't deny that you're a man of action and follows his oaths. So I'll hold you to those promises." Slamming his fist down, he gave a fierce grin. "Lord Rickard Karstark will support King Stannis as well."

Lastly Roose stepped forward, the pale lord looking over his fellow nobles. Despite the grand declarations, he seemed disinterested by it all. "I, Lord Roose Bolton will support King Stannis's cause as well." It was simple and blunt, showing he didn't care for grandstanding…or a lack of enthusiasm.

Soon the air filled up with more declarations of support from the other Lords, their successors along with the mix of knights and warriors who served under them. The show of full support brought a small pleased smile from Stannis, head bowed slightly in respect to everyone.

"It seems everyone is in favor to your cause King Stannis." Robb declared to him. "It will be an honor working and fighting alongside you."

"Indeed." Stannis gestured to one of his knights, the one who carried the wrapped-up Ice. "I do pardon for not returning this sooner…but none can deny this is a fitting moment." Taking the weapon, the cloth was unwrapped to reveal the sheathed greatsword. Despite the large size, Stannis held it out with eased balance for Robb to draw.

Robb stared at the sword hilt for a long moment before reaching one then both hands forward. Everyone shifted back to give him space as he'd slowly draw the large blade out, the metal a gleaming smoky color. With it fully drawn, he'd gaze across the towering weapon, remembering all the times he watched his father wield this blade. "Heh…you know…I always imagined it to be heavier." The remarked drew laughs from everyone, even Stannis could chuckled. "I'm grateful for my family's sword's return and I will wield it dutifully." With shocking balance, he hefted the weapon up with one hand, nearing reaching the high ceiling within the room. Cheers followed as the Northerners were rallied by the show of the weapon. Lowering the weapon, he'd sheath the weapon once more and rest the sword beside him against the table.

"Now then King Stannis…let's discuss how we'll win this war."

"Agree Lord Robb. I'm curious to see what plans you've prepared for us all." Stannis muttered back as everyone huddled closer to the war map.

…

Food and drink flowed in as the opening war plans were discussed for the next few hours, basically the number of varying troops, supplies and ships as well. Since the North had delayed in marching south, they had gathered up to thirty thousand men, with more gradually joining in. Stannis's numbers were around twenty thousand, though it was predicted to grow once news of alliance spread. In turn it weaken Renly's own military strength by a few thousand as well. Stannis also controlled a majority of the royal fleet, much of which he had personally commissioned during his time as Master of Ships when serving Robert. The mix of war galleys, sturdy transports and faster light ships numbered it as a fearsome fleet. White Harbors own ships were included, though most were mainly transports. However, Stannis was quick to point out their value in cargo hold size and as quick transportation along the coast.

"With their combined efforts, the fleet will be more than a match for storming King's Landing through Blackwater." Stannis shifted the pieces representing the fleet around Dragonstone towards the capital. "The Lannister's own ships won't be able to stand against us. To make up for this they will no doubt increase their land defenses. Catapults, scorpions and number of defenders."

"The harbor around the capital is large, so we will need to plan the flow of ships. The last thing we need is to be cluttered together and have no means to back out." Davos stated.

Wyman nodded in agreement. "A siege by sea will be costly, but the quickest means to take the city. I feel a few trader contacts of mine could give us deeper insight on their defenses."

Geralt had been mostly silent during the meeting, only quietly speaking to his companions. "There is one threat I feel we're overlooking." He stated. "Wildfire."

"Wildfire? True it's a dangerous weapon, but volatile and hard to properly weaponize." Stannis questioned.

"Aye, I can agree on that!" Thoros muttered. "I've handled that stuff plenty of times, never burned myself even. Fact is Wildfire is like an oil when spilled in water, able to be lit up even. Doesn't have as much power behind it but could light up a ship's hull."

"Knowing the Lannisters, they'll use any weapon or tool if it ensures a victory. With the Alchemist Guild, they could produce as much Wildfire as they need."

Stannis nodded slightly in thought. "Then I wonder…do you happen to know a way to counter it? A dousing powder or a coating to resist it?"

Rickard smirked a bit at the question. "What, is the Witcher also a mystic as well? I know well about your accomplishments, especially with besting the Mountain and Jaime. Mountain Breaker and Lion Tamer."

"Yet there are other claims about him." Bolton stated. "Using witchcraft and black magic from what his wanted posters claim. Considering your…unique traits, it does draw some questions."

Geralt focused his yellow eyes on the pale lord, who seemed unfazed by the cat like gaze. While the Starks had been accepting of his Witcher traits, he could tell the other Northerners didn't share the same viewpoint. "Then I'll be honest to you all. I can use magic…the basics at least from where I come from." He simply stated. "Nothing dark or sinister on how it's used. Its just an innate tool that I can simply use."

Despite his admittance, a few chuckled and scoffed at the claims, Rickard being the most disbelieving. "Then show us a magic trick White Wolf."

The Witcher glanced around the room, noting the number of light sources which ranged from candles, a few torches and a large hearth as well. A smirk hinted his lips as he'd raise his right hand, deft fingers flexing for the Igni Sign. Instantly, all the fires went out at once, leaving only the embers to case a faint light in the dark room. Surprised and shocked voices filled the air, though Thoros' amused laugh was the loudest of them all. Once more he casted Igni and the fires returned once more. A few of the men were tense, grasping their weapons as they realized what had happened.

"That proof enough?" The Witcher stated. "Trust me, you'd rather not see what that Sign can also do."

While Robb was also surprised by this reveal, he knew Geralt well enough to understand his intentions. Once everyone had calmed down, the doubters seemed a tad more nervous with the Witcher as they realized that between his masterful sword skills and these abilities…he was far more dangerous than they knew.

"Well…at the least its good we have you on our side." Wyman said with a chuckle, the fat lord giving a short shrug. "Gods we are going through strange times indeed…but exciting times as well."

"So then…back to the original question then." Geralt muttered, wanting to get the meeting back on track. "My skills in alchemy do cover explosives and volatile substances. If I had the time, I could work on a dousing powder, but I'd require some Wildfire samples to do tests."

"Heh, I'd offer to help on that, but I sadly left my small stock back in the Red Keep." Thoros chuckled out.

Wyman gave a thoughtful look before nodding. "I believe I may have a very small supply a recent trade procured from some…discrete partners."

"Ah…most likely old friends of mine." Davos muttered.

"That will have to do. I can't make any promises on a countermeasure though."

Robb sighed and shrugged. "That aside, we need to be clear on our approach by land." Pointing out the King's Road, he'd drift southward to the Riverlands before stopping on a marking within the vast swamp of the Neck. "Firstly, I made sure to order a forward force to secure Moat Cailin's. Unless Tywin plans to send a force through thick swamp and be hunted by the crannogmen, then he'll have to take the Moat."

"A wise plan." Stannis complimented. "Moat Cailin natural position limits the attacker, both in how they can siege the fort and camp within the area. Course, if the Lannisters forces even get that far, then that means the situation in the Riverlands is dire."

Greatjon nodded in agreement. "Between our reports, we have an idea on the Lannisters positions and of events playing out within the region." He'd point out the lion piece at Harrenhal. "We know Tywin has hired mercenary companies to secure Harrenhal while builders secure the ruined keep for the official army. The leading sellsword group is the Brave Companions, who from rumors claims to be suffering setbacks."

"From the Riverland forces?" Lord Beric questioned.

Rickard shook his head. "So far no House has claimed to be behind these attacks. In fact we haven't gotten many ravens from the Lords in the region. It's been oddly quiet."

Melisandre stepped up; her alluring gaze set on a certain stretch of woodland a bit south of the main rivers. "Because a dark force is spreading within the region." She calmly stated, drawing many confused looks. "The flames have shown hints of it. A foul and corrupting force…with magic even my Lord's sight cannot fully pierce through."

No one commented on her claim, as most of the Northerners gave dismissive looks. Geralt though wondered what the red priestess meant, since so far her visions proved correct to some degree. The fact that some unknown magical force was stirring had him thinking, but the lack of information limited his theories.

"Whatever the case, we need to establish contact with Riverrun and secure a route for our army." Robb stated. "Since the Lannisters control the King's Road that far south and with the Trident limiting our movements, we need to secure another route to outmaneuver them."

"While there are bridges and crossways across those major rivers, they will no doubt be watched as well and limited in size." Bolton dully stated as he traced over the Green Fork. "If we try to cross, we risk being attacked in an exposed position."

Everyone muttered about the possibilities while Geralt looked over the whole map, stopping at where the Green Fork at last split apart in the very northern end of the Riverlands. "What about here with the Twins? From my understanding, House Frey's bridge bypasses all the rivers further south."

The mention of the Freys drew distasteful look from most of the gathered, Stannis included. He had heard the rumors of how many saw the Freys as scheming and cowardly House, who were only wealthy and strong because of their founders insight of building the Twins. There was also the fact that Lord Walder was a lecherous man, who even at his great age continued to remarry and sire many children.

"The issue is that we have no means to confirm their allegiance with House Tully or not." Stannis stated. "Lord Walder is an opportunist. He will delay and make demands just to further his position."

Robb nodded in agreement. "Since ravens have been disappearing in the region, we have no way to contact and broker a deal with him. A small diplomatic party could be sent out, inform him of our alliance. I doubt even he'd like to cross our combined strength."

Geralt again spoke up. "I think we could do more than just that." The statement drew curious looks. "Right now we're in the dark on what's going on in the south. From the sounds of it, there are more than just Lannisters and Riverlanders fighting in the region." At that point he paused as he could already see the way everyone was eyeing him.

"Are you suggesting you'd lead this scouting force?"

The Witcher didn't answer at first, his old habits of neutrality nagged at him. However that time had longed past way back in King's Landing when they had been betrayed in the Red Keep. "Maybe…but only on my terms."

"Your terms? Forgive me Witcher, while you have proven yourself capable in combat and having unique…abilities, how can we know your capable in warfare?"

It was true, Geralt had never really taken by on a true battlefield or war, since Witchers weren't meant for such battles. However with this conflict only growing, he had to adapt beyond his usual approach. "Not saying you need to hand me an army. Give me a hundred of your best soldiers and reliable horses." Once more he looked to the map. "While Seagard just past the Twins could host the main army, its position is too far away from the heart of the Riverlands. Your forces would be stretched out." One finger then tapped down on a town set by the Blue Fork. "Fairmarket though is very central. It may not have a keep for defense, but the surrounding major rivers will ward off any direct attacks from the east."

"Just a hundred men?" Rickard questioned. "It seems like a small number considering."

"The point is speed and secrecy." Geralt explained. "If we leave White Harbor in a few days, we could get to the Twins in a week, then Fairmarket in half that time. By the time the main force reaches Moat Cailin, they will have a clear route to enter the Riverlands."

"It's a logical approach." Stannis said in agreement.

"Out of curiosity Geralt, where have you learned of tactics like this? From what I know of your actions in King's Landing, you seemed to know how to manage smaller forces and guerilla warfare." Robb asked.

"By being around groups focused on that style of fighting, commando groups like the Blue Stripes. They were some of the toughest soldiers from where I came from, could infiltrate any fortification and open up all their gates for the whole army."

With his idea given, there were hushed conversations all around, a few sounding doubtful. Thoros though at last broke the yammering. "Well consider me your first recruit Witcher!" He spoke out, the Red Priest grinning fiercely. "He's the man who won the melee against the Mountain and Ser Jaime, outsmarted the Lannisters twice over and beaten back a whole ship of Crow's Eyes pirates. If any one can do the impossible, its him!"

Theon in turn also stepped forward. "Then let me offer my sword and bow. I swore to serve Lord Robb, so I see this as the best moment to do so" Looking to the Witcher, he'd give a small smirk. "Unless you think I can't keep up."

Even after all this time the young man still had that confident smugness about him. "Heh…with your determination, you'll be worth two men." He jested back. "Consider yourself recruited."

"If the Ironborn is going, then I will too." Dacey Mormont added. "I'll even bring my shield maidens and toughest warriors along as well."

"Quite bold of you to offer joining." Geralt questioned. "I know many respect the women of Bear Island, but this is going to be a serious undertaking."

"Heh and you think being surrounded by and fighting other men will have us worried?" The fair woman's eyes had fierce glare in them. "If anything they'll be worrying about themselves if they get any ideas towards us."

That chilling threat had even the boastful Theon and Thoros silent now, though for Geralt her manners reminded him every much Cerys an Craite. "Then I expect you to fight as fiercely as the tales say. Also I promise I'll keep discipline among my group."

The Bear Islanders seemed pleased being accepted, though soon many more voices started to speak up. It seemed at this point many noble youths, veteran warriors and knights were offering to join up. It was hard to keep track of who wanted to join; however Wyman was quick to silence the yammering as he slammed his cane's end to the floor.

"Enough rabbling! I can see spirits are quite high at the moment, but we should do this in a formal manner!" He strongly declared before sighing. "Besides…I feel we've all been cooped up in this room for far too long. Considering how low the candles have burned, it should nearly be the hour of the feast."

Stannis nodded in agreement with the statement. "Agreed. We've done quite enough for now and can discus any minor matters during dinner." Standing up from his seat, he'd look Robb. "I have to praise you though Lord Robb. I thought for your age you'd be less prepared for this conflict, but you'd impressed me with the strategy and planning you've shown so far."

The honest compliment did surprised Robb, who bowed his head slightly in respect. "I've been preparing for this all my life you grace."

"Now now, boasting and compliments can be shared over wine and turkey!" Wyman quickly stated. "This is my home after all and as a man of hospitality, I will not let anyone stand with an empty stomach!" Laughs followed in agreement as everyone began to file out of the room, Robb and Stannis at the lead, talking to each other along the way.

Geralt lingering to stick with his companions, being one of the last to leave the meeting hall. Thoros gave a strong pat on his back, giving that wide grin of his. "Seems we're off to a good start. The stubborn Stannis seems to be opening up towards the youthful Robb."

Barristan nodded in agreement. "I must admit his grace has been more…forward thinking of late. He still has some set views, though it seems his stern nature has melted ever so lightly." The aged knight commented.

"Question is what will they name this alliance." Beric mused. "The Wolf-Stag Pact…Winter Storm Alliance…ugh…I am terrible at names."

Everyone chuckled out at suggested names, the Witcher resting one hand firmly on his shoulder. "Leave that for the Maesters and poets. I can say an old friend of mine could think of a colorful name for this occasion" He'd then give a sigh. "Besides, from my experience, the feast is just the second round of diplomacy. I expect we'll all be swamped with politics no matter what."

So onward they moved, following the growing noise of laughter and music along with the alluring smell of food. Despite Geralt's usual dislikes of feasts, he had a feeling Lord Wyman's would be much more suitable to his simpler tastes.

 **Notice: A big turning point for the story of Game of Thrones. I always questioned why Stannis never tried to work towards an alliance with Robb in the original story, since his reasons seemed quite petty considering.**

 **Anyway, how do you think this alliance will play out? In fact, I'll have a poll up soon with some suggested names on his historic alliance. I want it to be memorable yet fitting for the world of GoT. Also interested in seeing what you all have in mind, so comment or PM me if you have one that stands out. I'll gladly give a credit shout out if your suggested really appeals to me.**

 **Overall thank you all for reading! Expect another Geralt chapter very soon!**


	35. S2-E11: Winters Fury Alliance

**Chapter 34: The Winters Fury Alliance**

 **Forward: Editing and proof-reading credit to Rainsfere**

…

Merman's Court was massive in size, the feast hall rivaling even the one back in Winterfell. What made it so unique was how the floor, walls and ceiling were covered in notched planks. With them so tightly set together it created a seemingly flowing image of countless creatures of the sea, including a dramatic scene of a kraken and leviathan locked in combat at the far wall by the head tables. At the left and right ends of the hall were long stretching tables piled up with food, a whole buffet for everyone to choose whatever they wanted. For Geralt, this was his kind of feast as he got to pick out pieces of grilled beef, fried fishes, hearty soup and plenty of fresh bread. Too often past feasts focused on finger food or extravagant yet lacking entrees. The North continued to be his favorite place for a proper feast.

Among countless dining tables were the families, knights and bannermen who had come with their respective lords to be part of this historic meeting. At the rear of the room was a short stage where musicians and entertainers preformed, keeping up the lively background.

As for the seating, the Stark family was of course at the head table with Robb beside Stannis at the center with Wyman next to the young Warden. The other major Northern lords such as Rickard, Roose and Greatjon sat nearby, though mainly spoke between each other.

Geralt and his companions had chosen a table nearby the head table, though soon other individuals from the meeting joined them. Theon had been quick to get a seat across from the Witcher and soon Dacey showed up with a mix of Bear Island shield maidens and male warriors who took a third of the seating.

Faces he recognized during the meeting also turned up, the most imposing being a thick bearded man who had been standing beside Greatjon the whole time and nearly equaled the Lord in height. Considering what he knew about House Umber, this was no doubt Jon Umber Junior or better known as Smalljon.

Another individual from the gathering also approached, a smooth-shaven man with short cut black hair and striking blue eyes. Unlike the more muscular Northerners, he had a slim toned muscled build instead. He always seemed to have a faint grin on his face, which gave off a sinister feeling about him. Then again, Geralt knew that this one was Ramsey Bolton, who had quite a few of grim rumors floating about. Being a bastard, his origins were not clearly known beyond what the differing rumors claimed, ranging between a product of rape or to a child that Roose had kidnapped matching his appearance.

Lastly, was someone Geralt hadn't seen for a long time, at least since his visit to Winterfell many months ago. "You son of a bitch! I let you run off south for a few months and you practically start a whole war." Graffin laughed out. The gruff short bearded Northerner clasped one hand strongly with Geralt, who smirked back at his first friend in this world. "I would have tagged along if I had known you'd be getting yourself into so much trouble."

"Glad to know you'd have my back if you had been there." Geralt remarked back. "Was a hell of an escape…with a lot of brave men lost."

"Aye. I know about Jory and the others. Man was a quiet one, but he was a committed soldier."

At this point Smalljon spoke up over their reminiscing. "Aye! Enough mourning those who have passed on…we should be celebrating their heroics!" He boasted out with a grin, hefting up a big drinking horn. Everyone else nodded in agreement except for Ramsey who hanged off to the side. "To the fallen!"

"To the fallen!" Mugs and cups were lifted before everyone took deep drinks.

With the toast finished, everyone properly sat down and began to dig into their meals. It was good to have some peace to just eat, though Geralt could see everyone was eager to begin chatting with him. Instead, he decided to speak up first as his attention was towards Lord Beric. "So you mentioned you had something to share with me?"

"Heh well you sort of beat me on the matter." The young lord chuckled. "See, I was thinking of us joining together as a unit if we were going to war."

"So your planning to join up with me? I'd have thought you'd wish to stick with the other nobility to focus on the war plans and troop movement."

"Considering I have little standing on politics in the North along with having only a few men left, I feel it would be better if I head south. I did send ravens from Dragonstone to inform my bannermen to head northward, so hopefully we can join up with them…unless they ran into trouble."

Geralt nodded in agreement. If anything, getting more troops even if it were only a few hundred could make a difference. "What about you Barristan? Still set on heading to Essos?"

The aged knight nodded. "I've returned the Stark sisters safely, so my promise to Eddard has been fulfilled." He stated. "Besides, I feel its time for me to let the newer generations make their mark in history."

Theon smirked a bit. "We'll have to do our best to even match your accomplishments Barristan. It would have been thrilling to fight alongside you. Considering what you've been through though, a man like you deserves to decide what to do next in his life."

"Here here!" Smalljon boasted out with a grin. "Now then onto business. I was hoping you'd allow me, and a company of Umber soldiers join your group."

"Not trying to one up House Mormont are you Jon? Your father was quick to challenge us when my mother put her support out." Dacey smugly questioned.

At that point Ramsey gave an amused scoff at the two bickering. "At this rate we should be betting which of you will die first running into battle." He jested. "Just charging blindly into a fight is foolish."

Despite the rude tone, Geralt had to agree with the Bolton. "Our focus is securing a route for the main force and trying to get an idea on what is going on in the Riverlands. We also need to figure out who is our allies or enemies as well." Pausing, he let those details sink in. "I get it, many of you want glory on the battlefield like the old tales. The real differences that are made in wars is through preparation and knowledge. We acquire that, then we can prevent a lot of senseless deaths."

"Ah…such a noble goal." Ramsey chuckled, a mix of a complimenting and mocking to the Witcher

"So are you just here to help or just play jester?" Theon remarked back with a smirk. "Easy to act high and mighty, yet so far your House seems the most reluctant about this alliance."

The young Bolton shrugged as he leaned back in his seat. "My father will serve Lord Robb dutifully and in turn so shall I. While he may seem negative at times, he is already proving his worth to our new king with his plans."

"Still doesn't answer the question." Geralt muttered.

Sighing, Ramsay bowed his head slightly. "As interesting as it would be to go hunting in the Riverlands, my father and Lord Robb has requested that I stay along with other lords to protect the North. Since the Wildling threat has been growing and we also have to keep an eye out for the possibility of the Ironborn attempting to raid, you can understand this is an important duty."

The gathered group did mutter a bit about this news, not arguing against that reasoning. After all the North had mustered thirty thousand troops for the march to the Riverlands, with Stannis requesting two thousand plus a mix of cargo and transport ships for his sea invasion plan. With eight thousand available soldiers remaining in the region, they could defend it or if needed to be called up as reinforcements.

"Its been a while since I've been back North. Care to fill me in on the latest news about the Wall and Night's Watch." Geralt asked the group.

"More like a lack of news." Ramsay chuckled, getting an annoyed look from Smalljon.

"I can give a better answer. House Umber keeps close contact with the Nights Watch after all." The gruff noble answered. "The Lord Commander had gotten hold of writs from Lord Eddard, notices for all sorts of supplies. I can say the caravans were bringing in all sorts of weapons, tools, materials and even siege defenses."

"So then what about the Wildling threat?"

"Its been growing, that's for sure." Theon muttered. "A month back a group had strayed close to Winterfell when we were testing out Bran's new saddle. Me, Robb and Grey Wind killed most of them before the rest ran off."

Smalljon growled and nodded. "Aye, we've been having problems with them too. Raiding fields and lone farms or snooping in the woods. We've doubled our patrols along the border of The Gift, yet there is a lot of empty territory to cover…plenty of places these Wildlings could be grouping up."

"There is a good question on that. How are they even getting over the Wall?" Thoros questioned. "I visited it once a while back…can't imagine climbing that."

Geralt shrugged at the claim. "It is possible though. It be very difficult, but with the right tools and practice, it could be done. With the Wall so undermanned, it be easy for them to scale it without being noticed."

"Insanity." The young Umber muttered.

"More like desperation." Geralt muttered more to himself. Even though it had been many months, the dire warning of the Thenn still lingered in the back of his mind. These Wildlings wanted to get farther south no matter the risks. Something big was going to happen in the frozen wastes, more reason for this senseless conflict to be finished quickly.

"Anyway…the most troubling matter is the fact that Lord Commander Jeor Mormont along with the entire scouting forces has disappeared." Smalljon explained. "They had gone off to learn of the Wildlings position, only to have disappeared because recent ice storms."

Dacey shook her head at the news. "It will take more than weather and savages to kill my uncle." She stated with a fierce look in her eyes.

Short remarks of agreement followed before everyone took deep gulps from their drinks and continued to eat. After a while though the music began to die down and attention seemed to shift towards the high table. Geralt's gaze drifted up there to see that Stannis and Robb were standing from their seats, seeming ready to give a speech to the gathered Northerners. The lively mood calmed quite quickly, silence creeping in as everyone seemed eager to listen.

Robb gave a short nod to the gathered. "I thank all of you for coming here for this historic moment for the North. I wish such a gathering could be for better occasions, not over the matters of war." Low 'ayes' of agreement followed. "My father gave his life striving to do what was right, as he has done always. With Robert assassinated and such open corruption within the capital, he didn't stand by like many men have and continue to do, despite knowing the risks he'd face. Like any true man of the North, he was brave and honest!" More yells, praises to the late Lord. "Much like him, I will strive to follow those same virtues while leading all of you in conflicts ahead. However we won't be alone in these coming battles, for King Stannis Baratheon fights alongside us."

Cheers followed, though despite the open support Geralt could see a few who were quiet or muttering to each other. Stannis gave a nod to Robb before looking over the crowd. "Thank you Lord Robb. If anything it is an honor to be here speaking to you all." He paused for a moment, calm gaze drifting among the crowd. "I know many of you do not favor me…and don't see value in my right to the Iron Throne. To you it is just a piece of metal that has been a source of many hardships throughout your kingdom's history." The blunt statement drew confused mutterings and curious looks, surprised by this.

"I don't expect you, the common soldier to follow me because of my title, but through my actions as I have done countless times before. The Lannisters have committed countless crimes against us all…from murdering my brother, killing Lord Eddard and then threatening the wellbeing of his own daughters. Selfish and cowardly…as they have always been!" More yells of agreements, curses being given at the listed crimes. "They demand you submit because of threats and fears. Know this, I will never lower myself to such methods…and will strive to earn your personal respect. I swear to you the Lannisters and their scheming allies will pay for everything they have done. I promise that the North will be properly honored and given the support that has been long overdue!"

A new round of open cheers followed, more joining in this time than before. Stannis knew what appealed the most to the average Northerner, focusing on using action to prove himself to them. It was the opposite of how he had originally been, expecting allegiance without question. Hopefully that viewpoint won't return and muddle the support he had gained.

Stannis sat down as the clapping and cheering slowly came to an end, only for Robb to speak up next. "Strong words and ones we will hold you up to honor." It was a safe statement to make, showing that even Robb would hold Stannis to his promises. "There is one more guest of honor, one that I'm sure everyone knows well enough. A man whose bravery and cunning saved both of my sisters, along with having a hand in ensuring this gathering. Geralt of Riva."

The Witcher had expected this as the eyes of everyone in the hall were set on him, cheers following up along with chants of his many growing titles.

"White Wolf!"

"Mountain Breaker!"

"Lion Tamer!"

"The Rebel Knight!"

The last one was new, though considering his actions back in King's Landing, it made sense he was considered a 'rebel' for leading a short resistance within the capital.

"Heh at this rate, they'll have a whole page full of your nicknames and titles when the history books are made." Theon jested to the Witcher before Robb continued to speak.

"No one here can deny that the Witcher has achieved much, feats that match even Arthur Dayne and even our fellow honored guest, Ser Barristan."

The old knight smiled a bit as claps of respect that followed, since many knew of his involvement in escaping the capital. "Heh…I won't argue on that." He muttered to the Witcher.

"My father had privately named Geralt as a champion to my House, yet King Stannis and I have felt it fitting to formally give him a title. As Ser Arthur was the Sword of the Morning, Ser Geralt of Rivia will be known as the Blade of Winter. May every House of the North and Stormlands welcome him along with any who oppose him yield for mercy."

"Hail to the Blade of Winter!" An echoing hurrah followed; mugs raised high for the Witcher's newest title. While he was never much for being in the limelight of such fanfare, a small hint of a grin showed on his face.

"Hah! You get honored by the King and Warden, only to give a little grin like that!" Graffin laughed out, drawing chuckles across the table. "Truly the gods cursed you with humbleness!"

Ayes of agreement followed, even from the quiet Ramsay as mugs were refilled all around. Thoros had an extra mug on hand already, the Red Priest gave Geralt a wild grin. "Alright Witcher, time for some more of those strange tales!"

"Never enough for you is it." However his new companions had curious looks in their eyes, making him give a sigh before taking a deep drink. "Fine. This tale involves a man cursed to be half-beast, desperately looking for true love to break it. It's a tragic tale…of broken hearts and blood."

…

"GAHHHHH! Poor Nivellen!" Thoros loudly wept, his rosy face pressed to the table while he clenched his near empty mug. "To find such true passion only for it to end…ughh…the thought pains me!"

Graffin grumbled at how dramatic the priest was acting. "Did you forget the part that his true love was a blood sucking monster?" The Northerner stated.

"And the fact that Nivellen was a former highwayman as well? The man wasn't a innocent fellow really." Theon added.

Ramsay shrugged at the details, the Bolton seeming unfazed about it. "Eh…perhaps even monsters deserve a little love. Who are we to judge?" He offhandedly stated.

"Troubling as you are Ramsay…you are right I guess…" Dacey muttered, the woman doing her best to make sure no tears hinted her eyes. "So why did you make those choices? Man wasn't innocent after all."

He'd shrug at the mention, stirring his mug about in his hand. "No one, not even men like Nivellen should suffer under a curse. While he and the Bruxa had feelings for each other…a vampire's sense of love is more…primal and violent." He shook his head. "Heh, considering my habit of getting involved into matters I shouldn't…it doesn't surprise me."

"Ah and odd story indeed. Personally I liked the fight at the end, bloody and fierce!" Smalljon laughed. "You know I'm curious to see more of these Signs of yours. Don't think you can demonstrate can yah?"

"I hope you don't plan for me to set food on fire or fling a whole table across the hall." Geralt muttered back, though paused in thought as an amusing idea came to mind. "Well there is one thing, just need to make sure your fine with me using a Sign on you."

"Heh what kind?"

"Think of it as a suggestion charm. If you got a strong enough will you may even be able to resist it."

Smalljon laughed out, giving a confident grin. "The Umbers have unbreakable wills! Test me!"

"Don't say I didn't warn yah." Geralt paused in thought for what he'd tell the imposing warrior to do before flexing his fingers into the Axii Sign. "You got strong arms. Go do a handstand walk for the crowd."

The large Umber kept that grin, but his eyes soon had a distant look to them. "Right you are! Strongest arms in all the North! Watch!" With that, Smalljon got up from his seat while people cleared some space between the tables. With a 'yup', he'd slam his large hands to the ground and with a bit of effort flexed his legs to heft himself up. For such a large man, he walked about on his hands quite well…though it was most likely the Sign making him so focused on his task.

"SMALLJON! YOU PLANNING ON BEING A JESTER NOW?!" Greatjon bellowed out from the table, trying to sound angry at the sight while also laughing out.

The yell snapped the younger Umber out of the trance along with making him lose his balance as he'd tumble forward, slamming down onto his back. "Gah…what in the…?!"

"Seems you need to work on that iron will of yours." Geralt remarked, getting up to offer a hand to the young Umber. "Though with a bit of practice you could make a good acrobat."

"Grah…that is a powerful trick Witcher. Can't even remember how I did that." Smalljon grumbled as he was tugged back up to his feet.

"Trust me, what I did was simple." Geralt decided not to mention the one time he made a foulmouthed bandit shoot his own companion then casually hang himself. At times he forgot just how deadly Axii could be if properly used.

Returning to their seats, Ramsay this time was quick to speak up towards him. "So magic tricks and dueling skills aside, I've heard about your hunting prowess as well. I can say it is one of my more renown skills as well."

"Aye…and some say you use those skills to hunt people." Theon muttered. "Heard how some folk just disappear around the Dread Fort every month or so."

"As usual Theon it seems you rely on slander to get your 'facts'." The Bolton dismissed. "Anyway I can say I've taken down my fair share of beasts. Wolves and bears even with my personally trained hounds."

"Can say I've fought such beasts, though not usually on purpose." Geralt remarked back. "Did your father teach you?"

"Heh, he's not much for the hunt beyond formal occasions. No we had a very talented huntsman, a veteran from the Rebellion. I was quite young when he began training me in the ways of tracking, stalking and training animals. In a way the man was half beast himself."

"Sounds like a good teacher. Is he here as well?"

"Ah right…see he's a wanted man now." Ramsay casually stated. "There was a point that we came to a…disagreement. He thrashed me because of it and stole something quite valuable…almost priceless in fact. That was over ten years back…twelve I think…" He'd shrug, seeming not to care on the matter.

Geralt didn't question more on the bastard's story, though he had a feeling there was a lot more to it then Ramsay let on. Despite his dismissive nature there was a chilling look of hate in his eyes at mentioning this huntsman.

"Anyway I feel I've had my fill of chatter and drink for the night." Ramsay remarked, standing up from his seat. "I do have to get back home tomorrow, manage the troops for the coming march and other matters." Giving a wide grin to the party, he'd give a short bow. "Best of luck out on the front. I do hope we'll all meet again for a thrilling chat." With that, he'd walk away from the table, disappearing into the crowd.

"Hurr…something is messed up about that lad." Thoros muttered, Barristan nodding in silent agreement.

Theon gestured one hand about in minor annoyance. "Let's forget about the bastard. Anyway Geralt, I got one question nagging on my mind. What will we be naming our scouting company?"

"Huh…that is a good question." He muttered back; head tilted in thought. "Anyone got suggestions?"

"The Pack! You know…because you're the White Wolf and the Northern Houses have a lot of…animal themes to it." Thoros stated, voice slurred from all his drinking and crying from Geralt's tale.

"Bah that is too short and vague." Dacey argued. "The Lion Hunters, since we are fighting Lannisters."

"Yet that doesn't sounds fitting for the North!" Smalljon argued. "We need something bold and heroic…of the more grand days."

At this point Graffin smirked as something came to mind. "The Winter Wolves." The name drew surprised looks from Dacey and Smalljon who seemed to recognize the name, though everyone else gave confused looks on the matter. "Heh guess that should be expected that only the youngsters would know about them. The Winter Wolves was a small army of Northerners back during the Dance of Dragons…the whole Targaryen civil war that killed off their dragons."

"I think everyone knows about that at least." Geralt remarked.

"Point is they were a determined bunch who faced some imposing odds back in the war. They sided with the Targaryens over the Blackfyres, considering a lot of rival Houses had sided with them. Despite the odds they beat the Lannisters' near unbreakable pike lines and the Hightowers when outnumbered ten to one. Most fell by the end of the conflict, but they showed how every Northman was worth two southern born soldiers."

"Hah those were epic tales! I remember pa sharing those during practice all the time." Smalljon laughed out.

"Thrilling, but I prefer we all survive our battles." Theon quickly added. "So what you think Geralt?"

Pausing in thought, he nodded after a moment. "This does seem like the start to a new heroic era…so why not. Let our group be known as the Winter Wolves."

"Haha! I love it!" Thoros yelled, drawing his sword out and startling a few people in the process. Slamming the flat of the blade down to the table, he'd grin wildly. "Like all good fellowships we should swear it on our blades…and umm…mace." He'd chuckle as Dacey smirked, lifting up the mace from her belt.

"I can agree to that." She'd rest her weapon on top of the Red Priest's.

"Always wanted to be part of a legend. Guess this will be the start of my own." Theon added with a grin, drawing his sword and resting it down as well.

"Heh! I can agree with that Ironborn." Smalljon bellowed. "Uhh…didn't bring my greatsword in this case…ah well this will do." He'd take out his own long sword, adding it to the pile.

"Whatever the odds we'll face them. As many have said…Geralt knows no defeat." Beric jested as he'd draw his sword next.

With all gazes set on the Witcher, he'd shake his head a bit at the drama everyone wanted to take part in. "As usual, I draw the most colorful sort. Though I can't deny that I welcome it." Drawing his steel blade, he'd laid it on the top of the presented weapons. "Then here to us…to the Winter Wolves!"

"THE WINTER WOLVES!" The party cheered out…along with all the tables watching eagerly about. Thoros at that point gave out an amusing attempt at a howl, laughs following before the others joined in. Even Geralt couldn't resist…just wanting to enjoy the moment of new bonds being made.

…

Hours past as the feast went it's course. Music, stories, dancing and a little brawling played out though it was all in good fun and merriment. Between all the drink and conversation, everything began to blur for the Witcher. One moment he showing off the graceful training style of the Witchers, narrowly avoiding a friendly brawl with the Umbers, before then ending up having a formal if clumsy dance with both of the Stark sisters.

"Heh…you know you didn't have to accept Geralt." Arya giggled as they sat down, watching the next round of dances play out. "Its funny how you can move so swiftly in a fight…yet on the dance floor move so clubfooted."

The Witcher grumbled at the young girl's jesting, a faint smirk on amusement on his face. "Guess I still have a lot to learn." He'd watch a few of his companions on the floor, Thoros swinging a giggling servant girl about while Barristan guided Sansa along in a quite formal dance. As always the aged knight proved to be ever chivalrous and kind, considering Sansa had a little blush on her face.

"Its good to see both of you happy again after all that has happened." He remarked. "Better that you'll be safe at home.

"You make it sound like we won't be around each other soon." However when Arya looked at the Witcher, she saw how he didn't look at her. "I know what you're thinking…that I'm going to beg you to let me join the Winter Wolves and help fight." She'd lightly shake her head. "I want to, but I know you and Robb would say no."

Geralt at last looked at her, a small but proud smile on her face. "Glad you understand that." He replied back. "A warzone isn't a place for you, even with all your training so far. Besides, your skills would be better suited in protecting your siblings remaining at Winterfell."

Arya nodded in agreement. "I know. Seeing Bran and Rickon, I know they need protecting." She smiled faintly, thinking back on a past memory. "I remember all the days I snuck off to practice archery or mock sword fight with Bran. He was clumsy at times, but always set on being stronger." Her gaze drifted to her crippled brother who was speaking with Davos, no doubt hearing one of his many tales. "I have to be strong for his sake…"

Her tone was odd to Geralt, sensing that she had learned something troubling from her brother. "Is it about his dreams he mentioned?"

She'd nod back. "I…Its not my place to tell you. Only his." Again she was silent, shifting a bit in her seat. "So Geralt…when this is over could we go on a trip…an adventure?"

While she did change the subject, he didn't question her further about Bran. "So long as your brother allows it. Have somewhere in mind?"

An excited gleam showed in her eyes as she'd nod. "Well I did read up on the world's wonders a while back. The Wall is an obvious choice but then there is the Hightower of Old Town, Sunspear in Dorne and the Titan of Braavos."

The eager list of locations had him chuckle a bit. "I can say I'd enjoy seeing all of those too, though it would be quite the long trip. Once everything has calmed, we'll work with the rest of your family for such a journey."

"Thank you!" She beamed, giving him a quick happy hug. While surprised, he'd return it…though gazing over her shoulder he'd see a familiar individual watching them. Gaunter was casually leaning back against the nearby wall of the feast hall, casually chewing on a turkey leg and watching the festivities. The short glance he gave to the Witcher was all Geralt needed to know they had to talk.

"Anyway…I should go and prepare for father's memorial. It should be starting soon." Arya spoke up, snapping Geralt's attention back to her. He had nearly forgotten there was going to be a private gathering for Eddard, family and friends to pay their respects to him before his remains were sent to Winterfell tomorrow.

"Then I'll see you then." With that short greeting given, Arya gave a quick nod before hurrying off to find her family again. With no more distractions, Geralt grabbed his half empty drink and approached Gaunter, the supernatural merchant acting casual as ever. "Seems your fitting in well."

"You know how well I can blend in Geralt. If anything I'm surprised you didn't notice me sooner." Gaunter cheerfully stated. "I can say I haven't seen you so lively since Brunwich. Never thought I'd see you dance on your own. I can say Vlodimir had far more talent that is for sure."

"Reminiscing aside, what are you doing here? For the occasion or here to chat."

"Both in fact. This Winters Fury Alliance as people are calling it will shift the odds in events to come. It will be fascinating to see how Robb, Stannis and their followers will do." Shrugging, he'd finish the turkey leg he had before tossing it aside. "As for chatting, I'm bringing you a message from Ciri."

"Ciri?!" It was hard not to openly react at the news. "Where is she? Is she safe and alright?"

"So many questions, a few of which I can answer. Ciri is in good health, physically and mentally from what I can tell. She's also safe, being among trustworthy companions. As for her location, I sadly can not tell you by her request."

Geralt frowned hearing that last detail, making him nearly snap back for an answer. Yet he knew Gaunter couldn't lie and that he had no intents of hindering him or Ciri's goals. "Guess that should be expected of her. May I at least know who she's traveling with."

Gaunter thought for a moment before nodding. "Well she never said I couldn't tell you that, so why not." Leaning in, he'd then whisper. "She was found by Daenerys Targaryen. Fate does work in mysterious ways pairing those two together."

The news was surprising indeed, understanding the merchant's hushed words. "Rumors assumed she was dead. Hopefully the truth won't be revealed until this civil war is over."

"Hopefully." Gaunter sighed. "Beyond that Witcher you best be on your guard as you go south. Shadows new and old are lingering there. Lowering your guard will make you and your friends suffer for certain."

"Quite the grim and vague warning…but I'll try to heed it."

"Kind of you…however there is one other matter to discus, relating to the last words of Eddard."

"Why does that matter?"

Gaunter chuckled. "Why, because you are going to be part of his memorial…and you haven't told anyone else about that dying secret."

Geralt was silent, giving a stern glare at the merchant who was unfazed.

"You're a smart man Witcher. Surely by now you've pieced together a few theories on the truth of Jon's parentage. The truth would be quite dramatic."

"Which is why I'm keeping silent for now." Geralt muttered. "Besides…Jon is gone, maybe even dead considering what has happened with the Night's Watch."

"Heh, you assume he'd die that easily?" Gaunter chuckled. "Considering the time spent with him, you know he's quite capable and determined. All I can recommend is to wait and see."

He assumed Gaunter knew what Jon was going through beyond the Wall, though didn't question. Considering his ability to spy on distant events, he wouldn't be surprised if Gaunter was right on the matter. "If I want to confirm my theories, I need to talk to someone who was close to Eddard. Someone who was with him in the closing days of the Rebellion and been witness to when Jon was found."

"A logical approach, though you must be careful of who you question." Gaunter warned. "If Eddard would take such a secret to the grave, imagine how those with the same knowledge will react." Giving a sigh, the merchant shifted away leaning against the wall. "Anyway I won't distract you anymore than needed Geralt. If I do happen to see Ciri again, I'll be sure to tell her of how you're doing."

There was a short pause as Gaunter moved to leave, Geralt giving a sigh before speaking up. "Gaunter." The merchant glanced back, a curious look on his face. "Thank you…"

"No trouble at all Geralt. This is what friends do." With that witty remark he'd disappear into the busy crowd of the feast hall.

Alone for the moment, the Witcher sighed as he felt some peace of mind knowing Ciri was safe. What was most curious was the fact she was traveling with the last Targaryen. He hadn't heard any news or even rumors about Daenerys, though from what Gaunter implied she wasn't with her husband for some reason. However, that reminded him that her existence could prove to be a hindrance in the case of Stanis. He had no idea if the man viewed her as a threat like Robert did, which would complicate matters. The last thing he wanted was House Stark to be dragged into another chain of warring.

"Everyone! For those invited, we will be gathering for Lord Eddard's memorial at the hall's main entrance. As for everyone else, please continue to enjoy the feast!" A courtier declared. With the message spreading about, Geralt watched as more notable members finished their meals or ended conversations before moving to leave the hall. He too would start to leave as well to reunite with Barristan who had also been invited to the private gathering.

"Thoros sitting out I take?"

The old knight nodded. "Even he realized he's too drunk to remain formal. Besides, he feels he'd be out of place because of his faith."

They followed the group down one long hallway until they ended up in a medium sized chamber, most likely an unused room which had quickly prepared for this occasion. A large sturdy table was set on the far end with the black wood coffin set at the end while rows of comfortable chairs were set around.

Geralt and Barristan were the last to arrive as already Robb, his siblings and Theon were at the coffin. Even the direwolves sat nearby, seemingly aware of the mournful situation. The lid had been open to reveal Eddard's body, dressed in plain dark cloth and leather garb as he usually wore in life. Beyond his skin being discolored, the embalming had preserved the late Lord of Winterfell perfectly, making it seem as if he was only sleeping.

The Witcher's attention did shift among the others gathered which included all of the lords of the major Houses. Stannis was among them quietly speaking to a few with Davos at his side, though both glanced over to him once they noticed him. The stern king would finish the conversation and dismiss Davos before approaching Geralt.

"Ser Geralt and Ser Barristan." He simply greeted. "Seems both of you have been active during the feast. I can say I never thought either of you were interested in dancing…though the Witcher could do with practice."

"Amusing your grace." Geralt muttered with a low hint of annoyance.

Barristan however had an amused grin. "Doesn't hurt to learn Geralt. Learning the way of a formal dance was a skill I picked up early, even when I was busy working on my knightly talents."

"A talent that Lady Sansa at least got to enjoy. At least the silver lining in this maddening weeks is that you've proven true knights do exist." Stannis politely complimented. "Such matters aside, I do wish to speak alone with Ser Geralt if you don't mind Ser Barristan."

"As you wish your grace." With a short bow Barristan moved aside, heading toward the Starks who had moved away from the coffin.

Stannis and Geralt paced more to the side of the room to be avoid being overheard. "I have to say your Winter Wolves has gained a lot of support over the evening. A few of my knights have requested if they could join your group, which a few I've allowed."

"Generous of you."

"Your success will speed up the war effort, yet it is also to watch your group."

"You don't trust me after everything so far?"

Stannis gave an amused scoff. "No if anything I trust you more than all the nobles gathered here…though Lord Robb is the major exception." He'd glance over to the young Warden who was speaking with Barristan, even shaking hands with the knight. "He's very much liked Eddard…just younger and unknowing on how cutthroat politics and war can be."

"Hopefully you'll be able to educate him on such issues." Geralt remarked. "However I feel there is more to what you're saying."

Stannis was silent before nodding. "Lord Eddard…we only met a few times in the past. The aftermath of the Rebellion and the conflict against the Greyjoys. He always was one to praise my efforts and honor…" He smirked a bit. "Ironic how I was so deeply jealous of him."

"Jealous…" Though for Geralt it did make sense. Eddard after all had been considered a brother towards Robert and all his accomplishments had led to him being adored by both noble and common born. Of this were things Stannis no doubt felt he deserved, only to be denied for a variety of reasons.

Stannis could tell the Witcher came to that deduction from the realization hinting his cat like eyes. "It was petty of me to let such thoughts affect my judgement. My past makes it hard for me to be trusting…though that should be obvious to you."

"Curious on why you're open about such faults."

"Because a wise king should be open about such issues, especially towards those who advise. I've shared this matter with Davos and plan to do the same with Lord Robb when the right time comes." Still there was a warning glare in his eyes. "Still, I'd expect you to keep this to yourself."

"Of course your grace." Geralt simply answered.

Stannis nodded before continuing to speak. "That aside, the lack of news in the Riverlands as me worried. Lord Tywin is a cunning man but unless he has recruited master huntsmen or falconers, there is no way he can be shutting off all messages in and out of the region."

That was a very clear point. "So either he is doing the impossible or a third party is behind it…as we discussed in the meeting." Geralt stated. "So then what do you suggest?"

"Simply caution. Some lords simply feel our numbers alone can ensure a quick victory though Robb and I agree that would be risky. All the enemy needs is to lure us into a battlefield of their choosing which could make our numbers less effective." He'd also sigh. "Then there is the matter of unity. While everyone supports Robb, there are lesser disputes between the other lords. Already Lord Glover and Lord Umber debated with the young warden on who's bannerman should be the vanguard force."

"My understanding is Galbert is calm headed and tactful, though quiet when it comes to politics. Quite the opposite to Greatjon." It seemed even on matters of war the Northerners here bickered just like the Nordling Kings from home did. "This isn't going to cause issues for the march south?"

Stannis shook his head. "It will be taken care of…I will ensure it is before then." His tone was quite serious on the subject, showing he won't tolerate such disorder. "At the least Lord Manderly and Ser Davos are planning out our sea campaign quite well. It will take a month or more to manage all the troops, supplies and ships all the way to Dragonstone. In turn though, news of the alliance will spread and bolster our forces."

"The Winters Fury Alliance." Geralt muttered, making Stannis give shake his head slightly. "Take you don't care for the name?"

"I leave such matters to the Maesters and minstrels." Stannis scoffed.

Geralt shrugged. "Hopefully they have a good name for the war in the books. War of the Three Kings doesn't really sound impressive."

"Amusing Witcher." Stannis sighed, though a small smirk did hint his face. "Let's worry about such details when…or if we win this war. The following week will determine how smoothly our plans will go." With the gathered mourners finishing paying their respects, Stannis moved aside towards Davos who was waiting at the doorway. "I think we've both had enough on politics and festivities. Try to enjoy some rest Witcher, you've earned some peace." With that respectful parting, Stannis left the room with Davos close beside him.

Geralt drifted his gaze over those who lingered, stopping at the Starks who were privately speaking to the last few nobles. Part of him wanted to leave now for the night, only to be thinking back on Gaunter's words about Eddard's last words about Jon. It was a conflicting matter to keep just to himself, even more with how uncertain things were.

"Robb...can we talk privately for a moment?"

The sudden request drew a curious look from the young warden before he'd nod in agreement. Looking to his siblings, he'd softly smile to them. "I think all of you had enough excitement for one night…or months for you two." He kindly stated, his last words towards his sisters. "Maester Luwin will show you to the bedrooms. Sleep well…and we'll talk more over breakfast."

None of them disagreed since they all looked quite exhausted after the long night. They'd give parting words and hugs to their bother, though Arya was quick to give one to Geralt before hurrying off. Soon the room was empty, leaving just Robb and Geralt. Both stood by the coffin which had been closed again, Robb staring intently on it. "So…I take father had something else to tell me. Something that he couldn't simply have in his will."

"A good deduction…" Geralt muttered back. "Its more of something he wanted to keep to himself. Even with me urging for him to talk." There was a long pause. "I'm torn over telling you…so I need you to swear that you won't share this with anyone."

"Anyone?"

"Not with Stannis, your fellow Northerners or even your family."

Already a troubled look showed on Robb's face as he thought over these terms. Yet seeing the serious glare in the Witcher's eyes made him understand. "Then by my honor as Warden…by House Stark…and my father. I swear my silence."

Nodding, Geralt did a short glance about the room and doorway. His sharp senses didn't detect anyone eavesdropping, though he'd still speak in a hushake volume. "Many months back, Eddard promised Jon he'd tell him the truth about his mother. When he was dying I asked that he share it with me too at least for Jon's sake."

"I see. It explains why he'd keep such a personal matter out of his will."

"The issue is he refused to answer. If it was truly a common born woman as he claimed, he'd simply had told me considering the situation. However the way he spoke…his tone…it was riddled with guilt, built up over decades."

Robb shook his head. "It isn't like my father to keep secrets…"

"I thought the same." The Witcher sighed. "His dying words though are what mattered. 'Not the father'. Those were his words."

A baffled look crossed Robb's face, the young man pacing about tensely. "Then…you're saying Jon isn't my brother? That he's someone else's child?" He'd shake his head at the thought. "It makes no sense. If father had simply adopted a child for whatever reason…even a common born, he would have been open about it."

"Exactly. However Jon has all the traits of a Stark, which I doubt can be easily found among the young that far south." Geralt shook his head. "No…Jon is a Stark…only not his offspring."

"Then who's?" Robb sharply questioned, though the look on his face hinted he had an idea. After all…the whole chain of events was started because of the 'kidnapping' of one Stark woman. "Surely it-"

"We don't know for certain, not without proof." Geralt stated. "Which is why I need your help. Surely you know someone who was with him during the Rebellion, another lord who fought and traveled alongside him."

The young Warden glanced aside in thought, trying to think back on the stories and discussion relating to the Rebellion. "Father lost most of his men when he went off to find his sister, his search ending with a battle against Arthur Dayne."

Geralt knew that name well enough since Barristan and Jaime had remarked fondly of the knight, along with many comparing his own skills with the man. "So did anyone survive?"

Robb nodded. "Only one, Lord Howland Reed."

"Can't say I heard his name among the gathered here."

"Heh…true. The thing is Lord Howland is one of the more reclusive Lords of the North. House Reed is the farthest south within the Neck, only within the North's borders. He's a man who avoids politics, yet he's deeply loyal towards House Stark."

"So why isn't he here?"

"Because I asked him to return south after our first gathering." Robb explained. "I needed him to fortify Moat Cailin in case of the Lannisters or their mercenaries tried to hinder any approach southward. If anyone understands the Neck, it is him and his bannermen."

Geralt nodded, understanding the reasoning. "Luckily I'll be heading that way within a few weeks. Once I question him, I'll be certain if my theory is right."

"Yet…should you ask Geralt?" Robb quietly questioned before shaking his head. "I may be young…new to politics…but even I know the risks. It explains the secrecy, especially with Robert. It could have created a whole other war…in fact it still could with Stannis set on his right to rule."

The Witcher was silent, unable to argue that the risks were great on this matter. There was also the chance that other may know or unknown clues which could be exposed. At the least for Geralt, Jon deserved the truth…to have some peace of mind about his own existence. "I know." He simply answered back. "I am sorry that I shared this with you…however you're the only one I felt I could trust with this information."

The young Stark nodded as he'd again glance at the coffin, one hand moving to rest heavily on the lid. "Another burden to bear…though it seemed father had many as well." There was a long pause before he glanced back at Geralt. "I promise I'll be silent on this matter. At the least the coming war plans will distract my thoughts of it." Shifting away from the coffin, he and Geralt moved for the doorway out. "Rest at the least will be welcoming now."

"I can't argue with that." Geralt sighed as they left the room, rejoining Robb's waiting guards. "We'll talk again soon."

Robb only nodded before departing, one of House Manderly servants remaining to lead the Witcher to his room. It was a short walk through the hallways of the keep until they reached his room. It was a cozy room, at least compared to the one back on Dragonstone. He'd see that his storage chest from the ship had also been moved here as well, as per his request.

"I'll admit sir, it was tricky to carry that into the keep. Dreadfully heavy." The servant remarked.

"All the harder to steal." Opening the chest to double check, he'd nod as everything seemed in good order before getting a few silvers from the money pouch. "For the work. Be sure to share it with those that helped."

The young man nodded, a thankful grin on his face before giving a short bow. "Sevens blessing to you Ser Geralt. Rest well." With that formal parting, the servant left the room, making sure to close the door behind him.

Now alone, Geralt gave a small tired sigh before rubbing the side of his head. Between all the talking and drinking he was starting to have an annoying headache now. Snagging some White Honey from the chest, he'd take a small sip to ease the hangover he was starting to feel before changing into lighter clothes for the night. Falling back onto the soft bed, he'd close his eyes as his mind was racing with so many thoughts. Eddard's last secret, the coming war, Arya's training and of course Ciri. There was so much to manage…so much to do in so little time.

"Feel like one of many pieces on a chess board right now. Except I'm blind to all the other pieces…as they are to me." He muttered to himself before closing his eyes. "Their move then…" Relaxing on the bed, the Witcher quickly drifted into a peaceful sleep.

As for the rest of the world…its many pieces and players continued their countless moves as the game of thrones truly began.

…

 **Notice: Quite a lot set up for the future yes? I can say I was excited making the Winter Wolves, since now a ton of interesting side characters will get to have a more active role in the story. Also a lot of other plot lines have been set, so I'm curious how many some of you will notice.**

 **Next chapter will focus on the other characters across Westeros, as the cogs of war start to click into place. Expect plenty of more surprising alliances to follow as the other factions make their own moves.**

 **Also I'm proud to say we've reached over 2000 followers on this crossover! Thank you so much for such support! As always share a review, PM or post on the forums on what you think!**


	36. S2-E12: In the Rivers and Snow

**Chapter 35: In the Rivers and Snow**

 **Forward: Editing and proof-reading credits to Rainsfere.**

…

 **The Next Day, Late Morning – The Riverlands, Raventree Hall – Hadrian Rivers**

More people had arrived to Blackwood Vale in the early morning, around fifty more from what Hadrian had counted. His father had been quick to put out a notice that Raventree Hall would offer sanctuary to all those in need, especially with the Lannister army closing in from the south while mercenaries raided in the west. The common folk had few choices, either risk going south to lose what little coin they had to 'support' the Lannister war effort or seek out safety with one of the Riverland Houses.

"Yet they're all coming here…" Hadrian muttered, looking over the large camp of refugees that had been flowing in ever since he had returned home. He had been quick to take the lead on organizing relief efforts, ensuring proper tents and supplies were sorted out. Poor planning could lead to illness breaking out and the last thing they needed was hundreds of sickly peasants to manage. It had been tricky to keep everything orderly…though luckily he was patient and persistent in his duties.

Sighing, Hadrian paced his way to the far end of the camp that bordered the front of Raventree Hall itself. There he had vital services set up ranging from a cooking station to hand out food, a medical tent to inspect newcomers and a guard post were issues could be brought up. Already there was a line up for early lunch rations, people being handed bread and soup as well. It was sad to see whole families huddled together with empty bowls in hand…even more disheartening with children by themselves.

"Come on surely I can get more!" One chubby refugee demanded at the front of the line. "This slop is barely anything. Only worth a gulp or two at least!"

The server, a middle-aged woman shook her head. "I'm sorry but that is the amount everyone gets right now." She politely explained.

"At least extra bread! Half a loaf maybe?" He insisted, making the woman glance nervously around.

Hadrian could see people getting on edge with the line being held up, along with hearing the man's growing demands. At this rate others would start doing the same and risk causing a ration shortage. "Sir, please you have to make do with what you have." He spoke up, drawing the peasant's attention to him.

"What lets you give orders boy?" He snapped, before noticing the fine leather and gray cloth cloak he wore.

"My fath-…Lord Blackwood has appointed me to managing this camp. Thus problems such as this are my responsibility."

The man gave a small grunt. "Then I can say you need to work on the food here. A grown man like me needs a lot after all."

Hadrian held back an annoyed scowl before speaking back. "I understand that, yet you must know that Lord Blackwood is doing the best he can. He's already having the farmers in the valley put out their harvest to support everyone coming here."

Hearing how the locals of the Vale were giving up so much to aid them drew low mutterings all about. "I…umm…that is generous of them all." The large man meekly remarked.

Hadrian nodded back. "If you do wish for more rations, you can help the people of Blackwood or around the camp. We're not asking for anything much; just simple labor would be a boon."

Hearing the news drew a few eager remarks from the line. The man gave a thoughtful look and nodded before stepping aside "Fair enough…umm…" He started, unsure what to call the boy.

"Hadrian Rivers." Turning to the line, he'd gesture for them to move along. With the flow of refugees going, he'd relax for a moment.

"Thank you m'lord." The server kindly answered, making him blush a bit.

"It was nothing. Anyway I…uhh…should go check on the medical tent." With that he hurried off, just wanting a break from the attentive gazes he got.

Nearing the medical tent, he'd soon hear the familiar sounds of pained groans and coughing. Entering the large space, he'd look over the separate cots, all divided apart by cloth to give the patients privacy as they were recovering or being examined. It had taken a good effort to recruit those with just basic knowledge of medical care. While the medics were no maesters, they at the least knew how to split a broken limb or calm a fever.

"Glad to have you visiting Master Hadrian." The House Maester kindly stated, the older man giving a soft grin.

"Had enough time to come help us in the camp?" The young man questioned. "How is my brother Robert doing…um…with his condition."

The Maester sighed at the question. "Stubborn about taking his medicine and sticking to a better diet. History has shown often that nobility can have an embarrassing end on the…well…privy."

Hadrian shuffled a bit, feeling that was unneeded details. "Anyway how does everyone look here?" He quickly asked to change the subject. The two paced along the two rows of cots, examining a few of the people resting on them.

"Mostly physical injuries. Cuts, sprains and the odd broken limb." The maester explained. "Time is all that is needed, though some here are quite restless."

"Ugh! I'm fine damn it!" A gruff male voice spoke out from the cot set at one back corner of the tent.

Curious, Hadrian moved up to see what was going on. One of the male medics was struggling with a refugee, trying to change the bandage wrapped around the right side of his head. "It needs to be changed! The cloths bloody and dirty…you'll risk infection." The attendant tried to reason.

The refugee squirmed free of the attendant's grasp, letting Hadrian get a look of his injury. It seemed his right ear had been cleanly cut off. While the wound had been bandaged, it was still quite raw where the cut had been made. "I said I'm fine! Look I can bandage it myself…just I need to get out of here." He spoke out.

"Why?" Hadrian question, drawing the man's attention. "I'm Hadrian Rivers, overseer for the camp here. Can you explain how you got such a bad cut…seems a week old from what I can tell."

The man grumbled, seeming annoyed and even a tad nervous with the questioning. "If I answer your questions m'loerd will you let me leave?"

The young man sighed before giving a nod. "Yes, along with taking fresh bandages as well."

"Very well." The refugee grunted. "So thing is I…had a run in with those Bloody Mummers."

"The Brave Companions?"

"Prefer the other name. Better for those murderous bastards." The man remarked back. "Anyway they snagged me while I was getting my family out of the village, cut my ear off trying to make me talk. I uhh…got the slip of them though when they were jesting about though I couldn't find my family afterwards."

"Seems like a close call. Where was your village exactly?"

"Umm…west of here in the denser forests. It was a raiding party…small enough to slip by Lord Blackwood's patrols."

"Odd considering we've had no news of them raiding that far west. I'll have to report this."

"Ahh…if you believe so." The man muttered nervously. "Anyway…can I have those bandages and go? I need to go look for my family out in the camp."

Hadrian nodded to the attendant who gave the man a roll of bandages. "Very well. I wish you the best of luck finding your loved ones."

"Right…" The man muttered, standing up from the cot before giving a wince. Clutching the side of his injured head, he nearly had his thumb sliding right into the exposed ear hold, as if trying to plug out a noise. "Leaving…right…leaving…" He'd shuffle past the confused trio, continuing to mutter to himself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Once he left the tent, the Maester shook his head. "Seems his injury is more to the mind."

"Seems so." However to Hadrian it sounded as if the man had been talking to someone else. That aside, there was a lot to the man's story that didn't make much sense. Before he could ponder more on the matter, one of the soldiers from outside entered the next.

"Hadrian. Your father is calling you back to the keep for a meeting. It will be in the Godswood." The man quickly informed.

Nodding in response, he looked to the Maester who spoke back. "I'll tend to matters here in your stead. Matters of war aren't suited for me."

"Neither for me…still…" With a sigh, the young man followed the soldier out of the medical tent and down the road to Raventree Hall itself. Crossing the sturdy drawbridge, they'd pass through the gates to arrive at the main yard before taking a turn to the left end of it, heading to a smaller portcullis gateway which was open. The Godswood was one of Hadrian's favorite places in Raventree Hall, feeling like a whole other world when you lost sight of the walls surrounding it. Strolling along the trail that lead to the looming dead weirwood tree, Hadrian could soon see the gathering spot set under its barren branches.

Lord Tytos stood at a large table which had a large detailed map of the Riverlands along with early lunch set about for everyone else. As always his father was lordly and commanding at just a glance, considering he was now wearing his raven fathered cloak and yellow colored plate armor embroiled with jade vine-lead patterns.

Standing across from him was Brynden, Tytos' eldest son who was a near spitting image of the older man in his own youth. He wore a mix of chain and leather, seeming ready for traveling as well. When Hadrian approached, he was the first to notice him. "Here at last. Keeping the rabble outside entertained?" He commented in a jesting manner.

"If you mean keeping them fed and sheltered…yes I've been doing a very good job Brynden." Hadrian sighed as he took a spot at the far end of the table. "I take it you've called me here to shares any news from the refugees?"

Tytos nodded, at last looking up from the table to gaze at Hadrian. "It's the fact that we've heard nothing of the Houses to the east and communication from the west is limited." He'd mutter lowly under his breath. "Lord Edmure has been acting strange. All orders from him have insisted we hold our position and build up our numbers. He claims that Lord Robb Stark will be coming to support our forces…yet nothing on the number of troops, expected supplies or even their route."

"So then perhaps we need to take matters into our own hands." Brynden remarked. "I can understand that refusing Lord Edmure's instructions would be…controversial. However we are facing quite unique circumstances."

Tytos glanced to his son. "I agree with you, though rushing our forces out on their own would be risky. We have no idea of Lord Tywin's forces in the east, only that they control the King's Road and Harrenhal with the Brave Companions."

"I…do have some insight about the mercenaries." Hadrian spoke up.

"Then inform us then." Brynden quickly demanded.

Glaring a bit back at him, Hadrian continued to speak. "Villagers from the west talk about how the mercenaries had been called back from their raiding. They seem to be regrouping for some largescale attack."

Brynden gave a confused look at this information. "But where? We're the closest hold and I doubt their foolish enough to take on our numbers."

"Well…I think their attacking to the northwest." Hadrian pointed on the map between the differing forks. "The refugees talk about some…militia group in that area. They've been taking the fight to the Brave Companions, hitting their supplies and freeing captives."

"Heh…peasants fighting back? You sure this isn't just a rival mercenary group clashing with them?"

Tytos shook his head. "Not likely. The Companions don't leave rivals behind and Lord Edmure's and the other Lords haven't reported hiring any mercenary companies." Pausing in thought, he narrowed his eyes. "If they are marching into that region it must be more than just cutting down a threat. They could be trying to fully control the routes from the North." He'd then point to the Twins. "Lord Robb will need to convince Lord Frey to let him cross through his keep to avoid battling it out across the King's Road. However if the Brave Companions take over the Fairmarket region for the Lannisters then they could lay an ambush there."

"Then move on to us from the north." Brynden muttered. "So then who could be organizing this militia if they've been this effective?"

No one answered, though Hadrian saw the thoughtful look on his father's face. He too had an idea on who had the skills to muster a resistance against the sellswords, the same person who had saved his life months ago. He didn't speak on the matter, only wondering what his father knew about the Northerner veteran's past.

"Whatever the case, this could give us breathing room to make our own attack. Though if the Brave Companions do take Fairmarket, then most of the Riverlands will be walled in."

Brynden nodded. "Then I suggest you let me, and my other brothers leave the vale. We can scout out westward for the sellswords, make plans in Riverrun and see what has been going on with the forests around Highheart.

The mention of that hill made both Tytos and Hadrian give tense looks. "I agree with the first two…but not the last suggestion. No one is to go into that region considering how many people simply disappear to it."

"I find that odd." Brynden countered. "While I don't mingle with the refugees, my trips to the other holds have let me hear interesting talk about Highheart. Such as how three sister mystics have turned that place into a sanctuary and have the ear of quite a few lords, Edmure's included."

Hadrian gulped at the talk of three mystics, flashes of that horrible night coming to mind. The short sense of fear did fade as he kept composed.

In the end, his father spoke up before him. "Then I fear our fellow lords have become both superstitious and desperate." Tytos muttered. "Whatever the case, I agree that we need to coordinate with the other Houses."

"Even House Bracken?" Hadrian questioned. The neighboring keep of Stone Hedge had long been a rival of the Blackwoods, having long disputed the claims to the vale here. It had been centuries since they had fought but there were times they had united against common threats such as when the Andals first invaded.

"Even them. I've already sent a raven to Lord Jonos about uniting our forces as a show of strength. He's a reasonable man who's strived to put our Houses pasts aside, so I'm sure he'll agree."

"As you wish father." Hadrian replied back.

Nodding, Tytos shifted away from the table. "For now Hadrian, continue your efforts with the refugees. If you can, convince those able to help with fortifications if they have the skills or enlist with our forces. The more who can fight, the better our chances." Moving past Hadrian, he'd clap one hand firmly on his shoulder, a small parting smile on his face before moving down the trail.

"Best keep everything in order while we're gone brother. It'd be embarrassing if we returned to a shanty town." Brynden chuckled before following his father down the trail out of the Godswood.

Now alone, Hadrian sighed before looking up at the weirwood tree. "Everything is going to be fine…it should be fine…" Yet nearby cawing had him turn around as a group of crows were flying off from the nearby trees, disappearing over the southern wall. "Then why does everything feel wrong…" Once more there was a building dread within him, the powerless feeling of facing the unknown.

…

 **The Riverlands, Stone Hedge**

Lord Jonos Bracken gazed across the map of the Riverlands along with pondering the letter he had received from Lord Tytos. Across the table, he had other letters from other lords, one of the oldest being Edmure's orders to hold their forces. "Sitting here and waiting. By then the Lannisters will have us surrounded in all directions. Won't matter if the North even arrives." The broad-shouldered man grumbled to himself. Setting the new letter down, he'd rub one hand along his bearded chin in thought.

Edmure was acting strange with his orders and combining all the hindering events throughout the Riverlands, his choices were limited. Working with Lord Tytos seemed a fitting choice since they controlled experienced and sizable armies. House Bracken's bannermen in fact outnumbered House Tully's forces. Still even that didn't ensure security for their regions with so much ground to over.

"Ugh…just no other options…" He cursed under breath.

" _Bold Lord Jonos…there are always other choices."_ A cooing female voice spoke out from the room doorway.

Surprised by the unfamiliar voice, Jonos drew the short sword he had at his hip as he turned around. "Who are you?!" He sharply demanded. "I know my servants and I can tell you're not one of them!"

From the dark doorway, a fair woman stepped into view. She was dressed plainly like a peasant, though the style had a more gypsy like styling to it. "Your men were kind enough to let me in Lord Jonos. They understood the importance of me meeting you."

"And who exactly are you?"

The woman gave a wide sly grin. "You may call my Whispess." Pacing closer to the table, she'd stand across from him. "As for what I offer…a chance to gain what your House has desired for centuries and a place in the new world to come."

 **The Riverlands, Fairmarket – Marcus**

Marcus didn't like the fact he had overslept this morning, though he blamed it on the fact that his wife hadn't waken him. He didn't blame her considering he had been tireless in the last week in organizing the militia on the town's defenses. They couldn't risk having any mistakes, else it they'd waste valuable resources.

"Sandra…always looking out for me." He chuckled as he finished getting dressed for work before leaving his room.

In the hallway leading to the pub hall, he could already hear the morning crowd still having breakfast. The Three Kegs had become the hub for the militia force, their 'stronghold' for Fairmarket. Here most of the militia ate and mingled, setting plans for whatever goal Marcus and his fellow Grims had set.

"Marcus! Took you long enough to get up!" One man laughed out, his companions giving jesting chuckles.

More greetings followed, the gruff Northerner smirking in amusement as he made his way to the bar itself. Sandra stood out among the other cooks and servers, politely giving directions to get as many meals out as possible. Seeing her husband up, she'd give a warm smile before moving over to meet him. "Morning old wolf." She teased before sharing a hug and kiss with her.

"Could have woke me up sooner you know." He remarked. "Every hour may count in getting the defenses set."

"Well…even a fearful leader such as yourself needs sleep."

He rolled his eyes at the title. "I'm just a soldier Sandra. Leaders often sit behind their men while I'm the one up front working with them."

The woman simply shrugged as she'd get a plate with a thick layered sandwich on it. "Then a good soldier needs a hearty meal." She stated with a playful grin.

Shaking his head with a grin, he'd quickly take a few bites before getting a seat at the bar to continue talking with her. "So where's Merry? I take Garm is watching her."

"She's playing outside with the other kids. You know that old dog treats her like his pup." Sandra answered.

Marcus nodded in agreement. "What about my companions? Heard any news of them."

Sandra paused in thought before answering. "People say Shadow for one of his scouting missions. Besides that that I don't know where he is. As for Doric and Ogatto, they're in the town outskirts getting the trenches set along with drilling the men."

"Then that is where I'll go next." Eating most of his sandwich, he'd pick up the rest before getting out of his seat. "Man the fort while I'm out."

Sandra laughed a bit before giving a quick kiss to his cheek. Slipping away from the bar, Marcus crossed the busy hall to reach the doors leading outside. The front of the Three Kegs was where most of the building supplies were stored, set under covering tents to keep any possible rain from soaking them. All about villagers and militia were busy at work, be it moving materials around or relaying messages.

Marcus glanced around the surrounding area; he could see that the construction on the spiked barricade was doing well. Since they knew the Brave Companions strength was their light cavalry, they had to limit their approach of attack towards the town while mounted. Adding also a trench along the barricade further made it impossible to be simply leaped over by any bold riders, along with slowing those on foot. The eastern approach though didn't have full-on barricades but a crisscrossing line of spiked defenses, trenches and short walls. All of it was meant to slow the attacks and protect the defenders from enemy archers.

Marcus moved towards the training grounds set to the right of the Three Kegs. All around there were tents set up for the militia members, allowing the men to rest and get armed against a sudden attack. Weapon racks were properly stored away with the maces, swords and bows reserved for the trained fighters while reinforced clubs, spears and slings for recruits. While their efforts against the Bloody Mummers had gotten them proper arms and armor, they lacked militia fighters with proper experience to use such things effectively. Despite this the militia's morale was at an all-time high considering the dedication to training themselves and building the town defenses. The tested fighters were busy sparring against each other while recruits worked on the basics against training dummies. The sight reminded Marcus of his own early days learning to be a soldier, though he hoped these honest folk wouldn't be driven to such a lifestyle.

At the edge of the training grounds were women and children watching the men practice. Among the kids playing about, Marcus saw the curly haired head of Merry who was trying to climb onto Garm's back as if to ride him like a horse. Other kids giggled about, shy about the dog who seemed quite impassive with the girl trying to keep her balance.

"I'm queen of the wolves now! ROARR!" She cheered out before slipping off the canine's side, drawing laughs from the kids. Merry laughed as well, though Garm gave a huff before shifting to lay across the girl's belly, pinning her under him. "No! Garm stop it!" Though to silence her the half-wolf turned to lick at her face, making her demanding become cute giggles.

"Alright enough now." Marcus chuckled, giving a nod to his animal companion who casually got off his daughter. "Trying to tame him? Trust me, took me ages when I got him as a pup."

Merry got up, dusting grass off her sky-blue dress. "He listens to me though."

"Heh…more like parenting you like a reckless pup." Sighing, he'd brush his daughter's curly hair. "Sadly I have to take him away for now. Friendly as he may be, he's not safe to have around other kids."

Merry gave a low 'aw' before nodding. "Alright…" Though she gave a quick hug around the half-wolf's neck before moving aside. "Behave around daddy ok Garm!" With that order, the half-wolf gave a short bark, making the girl grin happily.

"Now go off and play with the others." Marcus chuckled before the girl hurried off to join the other kids.

Garm gave a short bark to his master, making the man reach one hand down to scratch his ears. The two then moved on to the drilling grounds, passing by men practicing their stabbing moves with spears while approaching a line of men. It was easy to see Doric among the group, considering his height and imposing grey armor as he paced along the group. The militia members had formed up in a shield wall, working on their stance and formation.

"Make sure your stances are strong. How you position your legs and feet can determine how well you'll hold your ground." Doric directed. "A shield wall must be unified. You protect those beside you, so if your guard falters you risk you comrades being blindsided."

The men seemed nervous, though had determined looks. Many of them were freed captives from the last raid, some who had endured the battle against the mercenaries. While that skirmish had been the toughest battle of their simple lives, the incoming battle be far more intense to anything they had experienced.

At this point Marcus decided to step in and speak. "Remember, you're all meant to be the last line of defense if they breach the fortifications. Unlike the Bloody Mummers you have a true reason to fight, to protect your family and livelihoods."

Doric nodded at the statement. "Let's take a break for now. Water and food will do all of you some good." The militia were quick to follow the orders while Gray Knight moved to stand by Marcus as they watched the men run off. "They have spirit that is for sure."

"Yet it won't be enough." Marcus muttered back. "Our skirmishes have made capable troops, but our newer recruits lack proper battle mentality. If things get rough, morale could fall quickly in a real fight."

"It's our duty to keep them motivated." Doric simply stated. "No matter the odds I will stand my ground…and so will you too."

"Heh with my family on the line, of course." The grim risk did bring a dark glare in the man's eyes though. "We have to make this work. Have to draw the line here and show Westeros the people can stand on its own."

"No lords or masters." The Gray Knight paused long on those words. "I've done this before a few times in Essos, teaching towns and freed slaves how to defend themselves. Instilling confidence to stand and fight makes a difference against an ignorant enemy."

Marcus nodded in agreement as he understood. "Aye I can agree with that." Sighing, he'd look over the camp and nod. "Let's just hope Zarin and Alya succeed on their end. Their side of the coin with intrigue and politics can be a fickle one."

Doric nodded in agreement. "Zarin hasn't been wrong yet and no doubt prepared to deal with the Lannisters. By the time they realize his gambit, it will be too late."

"I'll trust in your confidence then." Patting the knight's armored shoulder, he'd glance off to the defense line where a large group of militia archers were gathered. Ogatto was pacing along the line as the men practiced on their long-ranged shots. "Anyway, I best make sure our Dothraki isn't terrifying our men."

A single amused laugh escaped from Doric before Marcus moved away from him with Garm close beside him. On the way to the archers he'd inspect the work on the trenches and barricades until one of the men working, a foreman, approached him. "Ah! Marcus, I hoped I could ask a few questions."

"Of course. Everything is going well I take?"

"Aye, though the men question if we should be cutting down the tree line to the east despite having plenty of wood already stocked. It seems to be extra work doing so."

Marcus nodded in understanding. "True, we have a lot saved up from our personal collection and our raids. However this tree line offers cover for our enemy's approach. The more we clear it away, the easier it will be to notice and shoot them."

The man blinked in surprise, realizing the obvious logic. "Heh, as expected of a wise soldier like yourself." The man chuckled. "Funny how many times I heard your tales at the inn. I doubted them at times, yet the last few months have shown me how wrong I was on that."

"If it'll make the men feel any better I'll take up an axe to help them out." Marcus offered. "Always has been my second weapon of choice."

"Heh they would be grateful." The foreman jested. "Anyway thank you for taking the time to talk Marcus."

"Any time." Firmly shaking hands, the foreman returned to his duties while Marcus approached Ogatto's group of archers.

"LET LOOSE!" The booming voice of the Dothraki spoke out before the twang of a few dozen bows followed.

The gathered militia archers let their arrows fly out, landing in the open field that separated the defenses from the nearby forest and main road. Along the area were colored posts, markers for certain distances. From what the Northerner could tell, their shots were too spread out instead of set in a clear line between the markers.

The Dothraki gave a small growl and shook his head. "You all need to be organized with your shots! If too many of your shots are too short or far then the enemy's charge will not be thinned enough!"

The villagers were a bit unnerved by the imposing warrior's words, though one young lad spoke up. "We've been fine with direct shots at the range at least."

Ogatto nodded. "Yes, but you only do that within a shorter distance. That point will only come when those mercenaries are nearly at the wall." He stated before at last noticing Marcus approaching, giving a big grin. "Perhaps it be would better if our sharpshooter explains."

"You do know I use a crossbow instead of a bow right?" The Northerner remarked with a smirk.

"True…yet you're the one who taught the basics of mass archery. Who better to teach this lot?" The former Bloodrider laughed. "Besides you no doubt used a bow plenty of times before and early on in the Rebellion."

Sighing, Marcus nodded as he stepped up, the militia relaxing around him. "Lad. Mind if I borrow your bow?"

The young man handed his bow over which Marcus inspected, feeling how balanced it was and testing the strength of the string. "So there is a simple trick with shooting as a group." He started to explain before gesturing for other archers around his height. "So if wind conditions are good, such as today, its all about getting your angle right." Looking out to the field, he'd pick out the mid-post before picking an arrow to draw back. Pulling the string, he'd set his aim at a sixty-degree angle. "Match my aim." The group did so, Marcus letting them take their time as he held his pose with ease. "And…LOOSE!"

With the order given, their arrows flew and landed in a grouped line along the marker. The archer chuckled and grinned, pleased with the result. "Its that simple?" The lad asked, taking his bow back from the Northerner.

"A beginner's lesson. So long as you understand the distance and the angle of your shots, you'll all shoot bunched up." Marcus explained. "Course even Ogatto here knows that. Hells I even taught him that."

The Dothraki shrugged with an amused smirk. "You're a good teacher, as you've shown." He laughed out. "Everyone take a short break. We'll practice on your angles for the others posts and at different positions along the defenses." With the instructions given, the militia members chatting about or finding someplace to sit for a while. "So what do you wish to discuss Marcus?"

"About our enemy and current odds. According to Shadow's report, we're quite outnumbered even with our growing militia."

Ogatto nodded. "About five hundred mercenaries. Two hundred of them are the Bloody Mummers with a hundred light cavalry, though they have about twenty zorse for their commanders and elites."

"Zorses…" Marcus had heard about the foul tempered half-horses, an exotic beast that came from beyond the Bone Mountains east of the Dothraki sea. "Those will be a problem. From my understanding those mounts are near fearless and can leap over even man-made defenses."

"Aye. We'll have to take them out quickly if they rush at us. I've seen those horses take multiple arrows only to go into a rage instead of panic." The Dothraki detailed. "The rest of the Mummers personal forces is foot soldiers, pretty much a mix of everything. The captain Shadow questioned sadly couldn't be clear on those details." Shrugging he'd continue on. "The other three hundred are a mix of sellsword bands who signed on with the Lannisters and put under the Vargo Hoat's command. Their numbers are more clear, a hundred dedicated archers, around one hundred fifty soldiers and the last fifty being heavy armored veterans. Overall it's going to take them a bit over a month to get here by ferrying across the Forks through Harroway."

Marcus nodded as he thought over the numbers. "And our fighting number is around three hundred, though that may grow before they arrive. However nearly half of our forces aren't truly battle tested and a fourth are still learning the basics."

Ogatto smirked a bit. "So…the classic outnumbered and outmatched situation. Really those are the kinds of battles I enjoy."

"I'd prefer we didn't lose most of our forces. Such a loss would weaken our message of the small folk being capable of standing up for themselves."

"Not trying to be negative…" The Dothraki sighed, realizing how dire the situation was. "This is war and while these people are being shown a way to not be helpless, there will still be losses." His eyes, especially that pale blind one had a sharp look to it. "We can't save them all Marcus."

The Northerner was silent, glancing at the militia as he focused his gaze on the young lad who had lent him his bow. He wondered what the boy's fate would be. A causality in the nearing battle be it by a lucky arrow or cut down by a sellsword. Even if he survived how would the experience change him…make him stronger, traumatize him or make him into something bloodthirsty. Marcus had seen what conflict does to people, turning decent men into a cold-blooded killers. Even he had neared that path…nearly became something like the Shadow.

 _Hands wrapped around that young neck; the sight of the young bastard boy's eyes were wide as he gasped for air. Never had he felt such rage towards someone so young, making his thumbs press down on his windpipe. Everything he had taught the boy for the last few years…he twisted for his own sick desires. Even as he was crushing the life out of that boy he could see it on his face…the sadistic glee in those eyes…_

"Marcus." Hearing his name snapped him out of his dark memory and glancing back at the Dothraki. The former Bloodrider knew the hunter was thinking of the past, though didn't question him on what it was about.

At last Marcus nodded in understanding. "I know." He simply answered before moving to face the inn. "Keep working on their aim. Only have over a month…so every competent archer counts."

"Of course Marcus."

With that said, the Northerner headed back to his home. The dark memory still echoing in his mind…which even Garm could sense. The loyal canine whined a bit, his snout nudging his master's hand as they walked. Looking down at those knowing eyes, a soft smile crossed his face as he rubbed his companion's head. "You're right old friend. It's in the past…and in the end I got you from it." Nearing the inn he could see his wife and daughter, Sandra watching Merry run around with the other kids. The sight put the past to the back of his mind, knowing right now today and the future matter so much more. "For the future…" He muttered to himself as he rejoined his beloved family.

 **Late midday - Somewhere Beyond the Wall – Jon Snow**

Jon panted as he caught his breath, wiping blood off his lips after the difficult fight he had endured. For a moment he just glanced about the snow-covered wasteland and his Wildling captors who had watched the fight. His gaze then drifted to Longclaw in his loosely bound hands, the Valyrian steel blade red with blood. Then his eyes moved to his slain foe…a fellow brother of the Night's Watch, the ranger veteran Qhorin Halfhand. Ghost was beside him, the white furred wolf licking his muzzle clear of blood after having bitten the old ranger in the leg, holding him in place for Jon to deal a killing bow.

The Grand Ranging had nearly fallen apart over the course of the last few months. Limited scouting information, increasingly bad weather and even encounters with stray yet enduring Wights. Indeed the undead problem had grown since the first encounter so long ago when he had arrived in Castle Black. When the rangers who had been with his uncle Benjen had been found slain, they had risen over night before being properly burned. With that and the growing reports of Wildling sightings on their side of the Wall, action was called for. They had set up a base camp at the Fist of the First Men, a strong foothold to do their ranging.

All around him the Wildlings muttered, openly impressed at the young man's prowess in killing one of their greatest enemies. The plan was working as Halfhand had expected, proving himself worthwhile to the Wildlings and giving him the chance to learn of their full plans.

From the group a Wildling woman spoke up, red hair peeking out from her winter coat hood. "You can tell Mance that that is the man who killed Qhorin Halfhand."

Ygritte's words silenced the muttering as all gazes were focused on the band's leader, a large fellow dressed in an intimidating outfit of bones. The Lord of Bones gave a small grunt before moving over to Jon, one hand out as he silently demanded for Longclaw. Jon obeyed handing the weapon over, knowing this could easily end with steel being plunged into his heart. In the end the man just cut his wrist bindings, drawing a relieved sigh from the young ranger.

"Burn the body." The bone covered Wildling ordered to the others before whispering to Jon. "You don't want this one coming back for you."

Jon didn't reply back, only keeping a calm expression towards the man. He couldn't show weakness or distress over killing the respectable ranger. Both Halfhand and even Geralt before him had told him that such open feelings could reveal your intent to your enemy. Thankfully he had had a lot of practice since parting with the Witcher. He watched them set the fallen ranger alight, turning away when he felt Ygritte's hand on his shoulder. There was concern in her eyes which was unexpected, though their history was a complex one at that. "Not too roughed up Jon?" She remarked, a witty tone hinting her voice.

"I'm fine." He sighed, clearing whatever blood and sweat on his face.

"Good." She'd motioned for him to follow her along towards the edge of the ridge, which he followed. Reaching the end, they'd gaze out across a wide valley that had been tucked away in the Frostfangs, far beyond the reach of possibly even the most experienced Rangers. Gray and white tents littered the flat valley, countless thousands living in a camp city. At that point he realized just how unified the Wildlings were…an army that possibly outnumbered the Kingdoms combined military numbers. Everyone south of the Wall greatly underestimated just how united the Wildlings truly were.

"Come on boy." The Lord of Bones grunted. "You can still walk, so you'll be seeing Mance. Better have something worthwhile to tell him else we'll be having another fire by tonight."

Despite the threat, Jon ignored it as he followed the Wildling leader and Ygritte down the slope towards the Wildling camp. As they walked through the camp, he quickly realized this wasn't truly a war camp as among the men there were nearly double as many women and children. While the Wildling women were a hardy bunch, he could see a few didn't have the fierceness that Ygritte had when they saw him. People quickly recognized his Night's Watch armor and cloak, muttering 'Crow' amongst each other. However a far more imposing and frightening sight walked…or more of stomped into view.

Jon had heard tales about the giants who lived this far north, towering creatures that could stand up to fourteen feet tall. The bearded one that passed by carried tree sized mammoth tusks as if they were planks was a prime example of its kind. Gaunt squished face, small beady eyes almost covered by folding flesh and a half-snarled mouth with flat brick shaped teeth. It was dressed much like the Wildlings only simply many times larger in scale. The biggest different though was leather straps that were its shoes since the creature's feet became wide and flat like a tree trunk.

"First time you've seen a giant Jon Snow?" Ygritte chuckled, enjoying the amazed look on Jon's face as the giant dumped the tusks to the ground with a loud clatter.

"Aye…though I've heard plenty of tales from a friend of mine." He muttered back to her.

Curious, she'd smirk. "Really now? Was he giant slayer as well?"

This time it was his turn to smirk back at her. "Yes in fact and the best swordsman I've ever met. He's hunted a few giants and other creatures all on his own." He had mentioned Geralt, though not by name, to the spearwife during their time together…which so far had been with him or her being the other's captive.

She rolled her eyes at the claim, nudging him along as the giant seemed to give an annoyed grunt with them staring at him. "Such the naïve Crow. It takes a dozen toughed men to take down a giant, normally with half of them dying."

He didn't try arguing on the matter though already he was understanding the story Geralt had shared about the frost giant he had hunted. Tough and big as they were, they still had tendons and muscles that if cut correctly would cripple the limb. Just mattered if you could avoid being crushed though…

"Alright we're here boy." The Lord of Bones growled as they reached a larger tent, opening the flap for the group.

Jon paused as he looked to Ghost who had been following silently, the direwolf looking up at him. "Wait outside boy." He said, rubbing his companion's head before entering the tent."

The inside was dimly lit, the only light being from the cracks within the harden leather tenting and the small campfire set in the center. For the home for the King-Beyond-The-Wall, he had expected more comfortable surroundings though this was quite basic considering.

By the fire were two individuals, one being a messy red haired and bearded Wildling. While he wore the usual winter garb, he was quite broad and imposing in size. In his hand he had food wrap filled with some kind of meat, which he nosily chewed on. The second man was a Thenn who had no ears on his head. The earless warrior was by far the best armed out of the Free Folk Jon had seen, having bronze scaled armor along with a helm and a sturdy weirwood spear crowned with a ornate spear tip.

The red-haired warrior took another bite from his meal before at last speaking to the group. "Hmm…I smell a Crow. Young one at that." He muttered.

"We've killed his friends and thought to bring him here for questioning. The boy claims he's interested in joining our cause." The Lord of Bones explained back.

"And what would we want with a baby crow. We know enough about his ilk."

At this point Ygritte spoke up. "This baby crow killed Halfhand…course with a little help with his pet outside."

The name of the ranger made the Wildling glance up hearing the veteran ranger's name. Standing up, the man was nearly a head taller than Jon, though he kept a passive look as the ginger loomed over him. "That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine, friends twice your size."

"My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their heart. Halfhand was just the same…and he had it coming after the mess he got us in."

The man smirked at the remark, taking another step closer now. "Plenty of little men have tried to put their swords through my heart and there are plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods." There was a tense pause as the two stared down each other. "What's your name then boy."

"Jon Snow…" He muttered back. "So then…where is Mance Rayder?"

A low chuckle escaped from the Wildling as he'd place one strong hand on Jon's right shoulder, gripping down on it tightly. "What makes you think that Jon? Think I'm not kingly enough?"

Jon smirked back despite the growing ache coursing through his shoulder. "Because I doubt you could convince the sorry lot outside to follow you. Don't have the wits for it." He'd grunt as the hand squeezed harder, though in turn his hand grasped at that sturdy forearm. "No…your Mance's guard dog. The perfect decoy to keep a blade off his back."

For a moment he thought the man was going to head butt him from how he was craning his neck, until a calm commanding voice suddenly spoke up. "Calm yourself Tormund."

From the shadowy back of the tent, another flap parted as a figure stepped out into the light. Mance was a tall and slender man, rivalling even Tormund's height. He was dressed in a mix of clothing more fitting of the lands south of the Wall, gray wool clothing and dark brown leather with a faded black green cloak on his shoulders. His face while gruff was fairer than the Wildling men, hinting at him having some heritage from the south side of the Wall. In one hand he held an aged lute, though it seemed well maintained under his care.

Tormund didn't look back at Mance, though he did obey as he let go of Jon's shoulder. He had a wicked grin on his face as he'd go back to sit down while the real King-Beyond-The-Wall approached Jon. "A lot more perceptive then I expected Jon."

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Jon nodded slightly back. "Learned a lot as of late. Tricks from friends and foes alike."

"You do show surprising cunning for a bastard of Eddard Stark." He remarked back before glancing over to the Lord of Bones. "Thank you for bringing Jon to me Lord of Bones. Go get your group food and rest, tell the cooks extra rations for tonight."

Only giving a grunt and nod, the bone covered man turned to leave with Ygritte's following along. She did pause at the tent flap to glance back at Jon, who in turn looked back at her. For a short moment their eyes met, making him glance down before leaving the tent and drawing a low chuckle from Mance.

"The girl likes ya and I can tell you like her back Snow." The remark did draw a faint blush across the young man's face, though he didn't speak back on the matter. "Is that a reason why you wish to join us?"

Right now Jon knew he had to choose his words carefully, making him hesitate instead of quickly answering back. Tormund spoke up first as he moved up beside Mance. "This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls." Walking past Jon, he'd stand behind the young man, watching him intently.

"Some proper introduction. This 'guard dog' here is Tormund Giantsbane, who represents quite a few tribes camping outside."

Jon nodded in understanding. "Seems you've rallied all of the Wild- I mean Free Folk to your cause."

"Heh…what's left of us." Tormund muttered under breath.

Mance did give a short glance to Tormund to be quiet before looking back to Jon. "So then Jon Snow, what are your reasons for betraying the Night's Watch and what can you offer to support us?"

Jon was silent for a moment as he did see the Thenn tapping his fingers across the white shaft of his spear, no doubt wanting an excuse to gut him right then. "Because everything that has led up to me being here has been based on lies." He stated, drawing a curious look from the Wildling King.

"Lies?"

Jon nodded. "My father and my uncle Benjen filled my head with the image of the Watch being an honorable group. A place I'd be accepted despite being a bastard, where I could be free to forge my own path though honest effort."

"And what did the Watch turn out to be?"

A deep frown showed on Jon's face. "A dumping ground for criminals and the unwanted. Men who aren't there for a just cause but to avoid the consequences they or others have made." In a way he was venting his feelings towards Mance who continued to listen closely. "True there are decent men in the Watch such as the Lord Commander Mormont and friends I have made, yet for every decent man there are two more backstabbers such as Thorne."

The mention of the Master-at-arms drew an amused smirk from the Wildling King. "So you understand what I've experienced myself." Gesturing to the campfire, he took a seat with Jon sitting across from him with Tormund looming behind him. "The Night's Watch is barely able to manage itself along with the fact the Kingdoms have little interest in their situation, except for your father of course."

Jon gave a questioning look. "How do you know that?"

Mance gave a small knowing smile as he tested the string of his lute before adjusting the tuning. "Let's just say I personally go off to learn such things. Risky yet very rewarding. Besides it had been quite a long time since I enjoyed a real Northerner feast."

More confusion showed on Jon's face as he thought over Mance's words. Then it just clicked for him as he looked at the lute then over the man himself. "Wait…I remember you now." He muttered in shock. So many months ago at Robert's feast in Winterfell, he remembered some nameless minstrel who had showed up, having quite the talented singing voice. It had been Mance Rayder who had snuck his way over the Wall just to spy on everyone. "Gods…you were right there under everyone's nose…Benjen…"

Mance laughed out in amusement at Jon's surprise. "Seems you also have a good memory to be able to recognize me. Everyone always remarked that I'm quite plain in appearance, helps me blend in." Smirking, he'd strum the lute before giving an approving nod. "However information beyond the Wall flows much better than you think. I have connections such as Free Folk who have blended in and Night's Watch who support me. Our ears only go as far south to the North, but impressive considering our limitations."

Jon nodded in agreement. "Then that means I can't tell you much more if you're already so informed."

"Aye true…" Mance's gaze drifted up from his lute to look right at Jon, a cold calculating gaze. "Except we haven't settled what you want Jon."

"What I want?"

The man nodded. "You've shared your grievances about the Night's Watch. How it has long lost it's virtues along with forgetting it's real purpose." Those last words struck true to Jon, since even he knew what 'purpose' the man meant. "Yet despite your issues, you haven't told us what YOU want. So…tell us."

Jon didn't answer as he pondered over those words…the same thing Geralt and even Tyrion had said. Sighing, he'd clasp both hands together before at last speaking. "I want to be free of it all. Being branded a bastard…bound to my oaths in the Watch. No ties to anything but by my choices and will!"

With that declaration the tent was silent except for the whistling of wind outside. Mance gave a smirk before setting his lute aside to lean on the stump seat beside him. "True freedom. Something that is near impossible in this world." He muttered. "If you didn't say it with such certainty…I'd think you were a fool, a boy lying just to be a hero." Gesturing to Tormund, he'd speak out to the man. "Get more of that chicken and any drink for us. Good conversation requires such things."

The Wildling gave an annoyed look to Jon before nodding at the order, heading to the back space of the tent to get what was needed.

"So…does that means you're letting me join."

"It means I won't be having Styr back there string you up." Mance casually stated, giving a nod to the smirking Thenn. "You may have claimed to not know anything worthwhile to us, but there are a few questions I have to ask."

Tormund returned with plates of chicken and some ale skins…though he too had a meal for himself. Taking a seat close by, he'd noisily chew into his meal while keeping that glaring gaze on Jon. "As you wish…though may I be bold to ask one question of you."

"Oh this boy has balls." Tormund chuckled with his mouth full.

Mance though nodded. "Fair enough. Ask, within reason of course."

"What is this all about? You uniting the tribes and sending Free Folk over the Wall." He calmly asked. "I've ran into your scouts before I even arrived at the Wall, wild eyed and desperate. What is driving you all to brave the Wall along with the hostility of the Kingdoms?" He'd pause as he let those words sink in. "It's not ambition…you don't seem the type for grandstanding rulership. It's not hatred because you'd just have had me killed for who I served. So what is it?"

The Wildling King didn't answer as he took a drink from his ale skin with a sigh. "Survival." He simply stated, a dark look showing in his eyes. "The Land of Beyond the Wall are buried. Spring and summer are practically gone in recent decades; thus crop and game thins." He'd take another drink. "Then the storms started and the dead-"

"Are rising again." Jon finished.

Mance smirked a bit. "Oh I've heard of your case in Castle Black. The Free Folk always had to deal with _**Them**_. We did it like Craster does, offering a babe to _**Them**_ and in turn they leave us be." He'd pause as he had a distant look in his eyes. "I don't know when or why, only that they want us dead now. They have countless ways to do it and for everyone that falls, it adds to their numbers."

"So you plan to get everyone over the Wall? You know that is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible Jon. I didn't become King-Beyond-the-Wall without having a plan." Mance stated. "Point is we stay here, we'll all die. Every man, woman and child we get south will deny _**Them**_ another body for their army. For every life preserved among the Free Folk, is a victory over the White Walkers."

Jon wanted to ask more, know just what the White Walkers truly were or not. However he felt he was testing the man on just how much he could learn at once. "Then to the living then." He'd take a swig from his ale skin, cringing a bit from how strong it was but swallowed it anyway with a gasp. "Ugh…so…what did you wish to ask me?"

"About a certain individual. Someone who even during my visit to Winterfell perplexed me." Taking a bite of his chicken, he'd continue to speak. "Tell me everything you know about Geralt of Rivia…this White Wolf…"

…

 **Notice: Bet you didn't expect Jon to make a comeback after so long. Considering it has been over twenty plus chapters since Geralt left him at Castle Black, it seemed like a good time to see how he has changed so many months later. Plus it was a good way to introduce some of our favorite Wildling characters.**

 **More side character POVs with the next focus being towards the Lannisters as they make some unlikely alliances that can turn everything into their favor. Then we'll be back to Ciri and Dany as the schemes of the Warlocks truly begin.**

 **Anyway work is getting busy once again with new hires, yet I'll strive to get a speedy release for the next chapter. As always please send review and chat on the forums!**


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